


Book One:  Keeper of the Flame

by ladyeternal



Series: Shape the Invisible [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Barebacking, Bobby Singer is Grumpy Bear, Bottom Gabriel (Supernatural), Bottom Gabriel/Top Sam Winchester, Brief grief-induced self- & animal-neglect, East of the Sun and West of the Moon Elements, First Time, Fractured Fairy Tale, Frottage, Guilt/grief-induced depression, M/M, Pre-Series, Sam Has Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-19 20:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13131459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: Sam Winchester had never wanted his life to be entangled with the supernatural; he was happy to leave that aspect of his family legacy to his mother and elder brother.  But when a nameless liaison at a party becomes a passionate love affair with a man whose face he is never allowed to see, Sam is hard pressed to ignore the instinct to mistrust that which dwells in shadow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, certain events would NEVER have happened and there would be unabashed pr0n. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored and am only playing with these worlds for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
> 
> Acknowledgements: This fic would not exist without these extraordinary persons. 
> 
> Guardian angel to my creativity, [secondplatypus](https://secondplatypus.livejournal.com), who has been alpha, beta and cheerleader all rolled into one since this idea first popped into my head almost a decade ago. This fic wouldn’t be what it is without her brainstorming, enthusiasm, intimate knowledge of angel lore as well as both of the source myths, and general unflinching awesomeness.
> 
> [Pimmy](https://pimentogirl.tumblr.com), who jumped in with both feet after severe illness laid [secondplatypus](https://secondplatypus.livejournal.com) low at the eleventh hour, and who provided absolutely _invaluable_ assistance, also as alpha, beta and cheerleader. This fic wouldn’t have gotten across the finish line if it wasn’t for you, darling.
> 
> And [peanutbutterthenjelly](http://peanutbutterthenjelly.tumblr.com), who created artwork for this story that is, in two words, abso-fucking-lutely _gorgeous_. Please go check out her [art post](http://peanutbutterthenjelly.tumblr.com/post/168603265262/shape-the-invisible-by-ladyeternal178-posting)!
> 
> Author’s Note: So… this is my brain on fairy tales. Specifically the myth of Cupid and Psyche and its variant, _**East of the Sun and West of the Moon**_. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Written for the SPN AU Big Bang on tumblr and being crossposted here from LiveJournal.
> 
> Because this is an AU, I've elected to ignore all the canon discrepancies around this subject and have based my timeline around Sam graduating from undergrad in 2005 at the age of 22. Also, I’ve never even visited to Stanford University and am basing any description of its dormitories off of information gleaned from their website. For anyone who actually has been there, please forgive any discrepancies.
> 
> Feedback is adored, so if you like the fic, please comment! And the more details the better; I love knowing what people like about my work.
> 
>  
> 
> [Your Body is a Wonderland – John Mayer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8dYpp0Pj5k)  
> [Tainted Love – Marilyn Manson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UP2f90kj5X4)  
> [Temple of Love – Sisters of Mercy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N3fo7ZakqhY)  
> [The Sweetest Taboo – Sade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kcPc18SG6uA)  
> [Desert Rose – Sting](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qd3E9_2ow9M)  
> [Shape the Invisible – Martin Page](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xjy_mVPy-5E)  
> [Breath of Life – Florence and the Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xOm2fLucQ9g)

~ooooOOOoooo~

_September 2002_

 

Sam hated being dragged to college parties.

It wasn’t that Brady and Jess didn’t mean well. His roommate had turned out to be a decent guy, if a little excessive in his indulgences, and Jessica was so much like Dean that he could deny her nothing. They wanted him to loosen up, not work all of the time, enjoy his youth while he could.

Sam wanted to succeed at Stanford, wanted to become a lawyer and work as a public defender in addition to a modest civil practice. He wanted to make his brother proud of him. That meant working harder at his studies than he’d ever worked in his life, earning every dime of the scholarship that was paying his way and of the money that Dean had so generously given to him from their parents’ estate to pay his other expenses. That meant not wasting precious time and sleep and energy partying and then trying to recover from it.

Mostly, though, it was just that spending the evening in a too-crowded room with a bunch of people that were getting blind drunk and looking for a semi-private place to get laid in wasn’t Sam’s idea of a good time. And yet, here he was: crowded down into the basement of his dormitory for a blackout party.

Voluntary and involuntary blackouts had plagued California since just before Sam’s freshman year had begun, so students at Stanford University were well-prepared for the situation: glo-sticks of every shape and size dangled from any body part people could hang them from, and battery-powered lanterns of an equal variety lined the edges of the room, casting an uneven, almost eerie glow across the floor. There were a couple of low tables that had been pulled to one side to serve as the bar/DJ station. A battery-powered stereo blasted music at ear-splitting levels, and the usually-cool air was stifling from the crush of bodies around him.

Making it to his room without getting waylaid didn’t guarantee he was going to get any sleep or privacy on a night like tonight, either. There were more than enough people at these types of parties to take up the common areas and quad rooms on all three above floors. The RAs turned a blind eye on these nights, so long as things didn’t get too far out of hand. And even if he did manage it, he’d be forced to endure another lecture from his best friends about playing it a little less safe now and then.

So Sam did his best to ignore the way his instincts told him to find his room and stay there until the party subsided, if only for the sake of not getting more grief from Brady or Jess the next day. But it wasn’t easy.

Not, at least, until a smaller body practically slammed into his own. Sam reached out to catch whomever it was, his right hand wrapping around a firm upper arm and his left curving around a slim hip; male, judging by its taper. Sam had learned a long time ago how to tell the difference even in the dark. “Easy there,” he cautioned as the stranger seemed to get his bearings and the face turned up to his. Even in darkness, with a glo-stick dangling from a cord around his neck and therefore only illuminating the folds of his shirt, Sam could catch that the silhouette was sharp-featured, capped with a lush head of hair. “You okay?”

“Just fine, gorgeous,” replied a slightly mocking voice. The man’s right hand was still holding a plastic cup, though how much was in it was anyone’s guess. The left had wrapped around Sam’s right elbow when Sam had caught him mid-stumble, and hadn’t let go. “This might not be your usual scene, but it’s definitely not my first rave.”

“You’ve had exactly thirty seconds of interaction with me, dude,” Sam protested, stifling a laugh. Somehow, there was a sardonic undertone to the man’s words that let Sam know instantly that he was being teased. “Exactly what makes you think this isn’t my scene?”

“I’ve had you on my radar since you got hauled in here by that little blonde nymph.” There was a subtle shift in the inflections, the lightest tone of want beneath the teasing sarcasm. “You aren’t drinking, dropping E or getting stoned. You’ve rebuffed all potential dance partners except for the little nymph, and you even managed to shift her attention to other people somewhere in the middle. This obviously isn’t your preferred method of cutting loose… and yet here you are.”

“My roommate thinks I study too much,” Sam offered, wondering why he was bothering to explain himself to this complete stranger. The guy was probably a senior; maybe even a grad student. Sam couldn’t tell from the lack of illumination, but he seemed older somehow. More worldly.

A little voice in the back of Sam’s mind reminded him that they hadn’t let go of one another yet. Wanted to know how the guy could possibly have been keeping track of his behavior in the darkness and the crowd. It wasn’t a warning yet, but there was something here Sam couldn’t even consider ignoring.

“Ah so.” The mockery fairly dripped from the man’s voice now. “And the nymph is his co-conspirator?”

“Something like that.”

“So why don’t you just go back to your room?”

Sam still hadn’t let go. Neither had the man in his arms. An unfamiliar recklessness was building in Sam’s veins, born of far too many factors to sort through and amplified by an indefinable something beneath the sardonic voice of the shorter man. “Maybe I will. It’s not likely to be any quieter up on the third floor, so I doubt I’ll get any sleep, but at least the door locks.”

“What about your roommate?” The words were laced with obvious intent.

“Brady isn’t likely to come back before noon tomorrow.” It was the truth, even if Sam wasn’t considering doing what his sudden bravado was urging him to do. “He’ll sleep it off wherever he lands, especially since it’s Friday night.”

“Far be it from me to keep you from your bed, gorgeous.” There was definitely something else there now, buried beneath playfulness and just barely discernible in the roar of the madding crowd. “Especially if that’s where you’d most like to be just now.”

Sam released him, a thrill running up from his hands as he did so. “Yeah… be a little more careful, huh? Since I won’t be here to catch you again?”

“I’m always careful, gorgeous,” came a mocking reply, just before the smaller man melted into the crowd.

* * *

By the time Sam reached the third floor, he felt breathless, loose-limbed and wide-eyed. He wasn’t sure what to expect, wasn’t even sure what he was doing. Would the stranger meet him up here? How would he know which room was Sam’s? If they did meet, did Sam really intend to… well…

 _Go for it, Sammy._ Dean’s voice echoed in the back of Sam’s head, bright and amused. He could almost see that smile on his brother’s face: the one that made his eyes sparkle, the one that promised mischief and mayhem and sensual delights that lasted for hours, if not days. _It’s about time you decided to get laid._

The reflexive thought of “jerk” made Sam smile as he entered the dorm room he shared with Brady. Even though his brother wasn’t there, he’d been such a powerful force in Sam’s life that Sam knew exactly what he’d say in almost any situation. Dean wouldn’t like the blackout parties any better than Sam did, and for exactly the same reasons. But an anonymous hook-up… no strings, no expectations, just pleasure given and received and perhaps remembered fondly later… Dean could totally get behind that and would probably mock him forever if he passed the opportunity up.

“Waiting for someone, gorgeous?”

Sam turned at the sound, saw the lithe form of the stranger from downstairs leaning against the frame of his doorway. Arms crossed, the length of his spine against the threshold. A casual silhouette against the faint backlight cast into the hallway from the rooms where revelry still raged. Sam’s heart hammered in triple time, and his skin suddenly felt tighter. “What makes you think so?”

“Well, the door’s open.” A shift, and then the man was facing him, his left shoulder propped against the door frame. “Want me to close it for you?”

A chance to back out. To let the flirtation be only that. For this irrationally alluring stranger to melt back into the crowd and find someone else’s bed to warm, leaving Sam an excuse to have left the party and the solace of having made the responsible choice once again.

Sam cast caution to the wind. “Only if you’re on this side of it when you do.”

The sound of the door slamming closed was lost as the smaller body crossed the space between them, nimble fingers sliding up and knotting into his hair as Sam wrapped him in and met that hungry mouth with his own. They stumbled into Sam’s bed, a soft laugh escaping him as they landed in a tangled heap. “Did you lock the door?” Sam managed between kisses.

“Nobody’s coming in here to disturb us,” the smaller man assured him, his lips sliding down along Sam’s jaw as he fought to unbutton his own shirt. “Gods above, you taste good.”

Sam peeled his tee shirt off, then set to work on the tight denim his partner was wearing. “High praise coming from a guy whose lips taste like sugar.”

A husky chuckle, and then Sam’s mouth was occupied by those lips again, the lithe body above him flattening across his chest and muscular thighs squeezing decadently along his flanks. “So you’re indulging your sweet tooth tonight?”

With a throaty growl, Sam rolled them until the stranger was on his back and Sam could grind down into the cradle of other man’s hips. The moan that drew out was long and loud, and Sam instinctively hesitated before remembering that there was little chance anyone would hear them tonight.

Gentle fingers splayed along Sam’s left cheekbone. “Hey… something I said?”

Another moment’s hesitation, then Sam bent and brushed his mouth against his lover’s. “No… but there should be less talking and more nakedness right now, don’t you think?”

Those lips captured his again with an affirmative rumble.

There were no more words for a while. Just the rustle and grunt of clothing being struggled off, the soft gasps and breathy moans of two men mapping each other in the dark. Unable to see his lover, Sam got lost in the silken smoothness of his skin, in the twitch and play of the compact muscles beneath as he found a sensitive place. In the way nimble hands slid over his body, drawing out each nerve with a musician’s skill, the adept satin lips that sipped across the curves and planes of Sam’s torso until Sam was rutting into the cut of those slim hips in search of the friction he was desperate for.

Hips that undulated right back up against his, hard flesh slick with saline gliding sinuously together until they were both mindless from it, unable to control the moans that rolled out as they clutched at one another. Every sensation was razor sharp, a thousand tiny vibrations building and building until Sam couldn’t hold on any longer, burying his low cry in a fervent kiss as release finally broke over his senses.

Slowly, the haze of euphoria receded enough to register sensation again. His lover rested beneath him, the slick between their bodies slowly growing cool and tacky. There was no dig of an unsatisfied erection against Sam’s hip, and he had the vaguest reckoning that there was too much between them to have come from just his own orgasm. Nimble fingers were tracing the edge of Sam’s spine, and Sam realized he was gently mouthing kisses over his lover’s throat and shoulder. “Wow.”

“Had a feeling you’d be good for some fireworks,” came the murmured reply in his ear. That voice was no longer mocking or sardonic. There was a quietness in it now, sated and soft, that curled around Sam’s heart.

“Glad to not disappoint then.” Sam nuzzled his lover a bit longer, then gave a little laughing sigh as he leaned up far enough to almost see his eyes. “I’ve got a couple clean towels; we should wash up.”

“I’m all for that,” his lover agreed. “But with that crowd out there, the showers are likely to be... otherwise occupied.”

Sam groaned at the image of his dorm-mates and other party-goers using the shower stalls for all manner of debauchery. By this point, it was a virtual certainty that was exactly what was going on. “Wasn’t exactly prepared for this tonight.”

“Don’t apologize, gorgeous.” There was a smile in that voice, on those lips just before they brushed a kiss over Sam’s still-sensitive nipple. “Spontaneity’s good for you once in a while; you don’t have to be prepared for every possibility all the time.”

A laugh barked out, swiftly replacing Sam’s nearly-automatic ‘yes, I do’. He’d spent half his life training and studying and readying himself for almost anything that might happen to him, and one of Dean’s conditions for him going to college was that he wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks. While sex wasn’t an unnecessary risk in Dean’s mind, his brother would definitely chew him out if he knew Sam had invited someone back to his room without even having some basic supplies on hand. “Maybe.”

He could feel those eyes watching him as he slid from the bed, finding the towels and dampening them at the sink in the dark. Quick hands snatched a cloth from him as soon as he was near enough, and Sam was treated to a tender cleansing at the same time he wiped the traces of their passion from his lover’s skin.

“Come back here,” urged that voice, still quiet and soft and lacking sarcasm. Sam went to him, relaxing against the smaller man as he tangled into Sam’s larger frame, snuggling in like a contented cat. “You mind if I stay until the party subsides?”

It tugged at Sam’s heart a little, that this nameless interlude should end not with an awkward goodbye but with a steady heartbeat against his own, the scent of his lover surrounding him rather than just sweat and sex mingled in a bittersweet musk. “Not at all. Get some sleep.”

One last contented snuggle, and he felt his lover’s breath even out, felt the embrace go ever so slightly lax as sleep claimed him. Sam allowed himself a soft kiss across the crown of his lover’s head, and then he too drifted into dreams.

* * *

When Sam woke the next morning, it was to someone pounding on his dorm room door. He came up with a start, the knife he kept under his pillow in his hand, realizing belatedly that there was no threat in the room with him.

There was no one in the room with him at all. Sunlight streaming through the window was his only companion.

Something like disappointment twisted in Sam’s chest as he secured the knife back in its proper place, then shifted around to get out of bed and answer the female voice calling to him from the other side of his door. Carefully, he gathered up the towels and clothes on the floor, noting that his lover had left the glo-stick behind but nothing else, and threw them into the hamper before getting dressed.

It wasn’t until he arrived at the door to open it that he noticed the note taped there. Pulling it free, he shouted for Jess to stop pounding his door down and give him a minute as he opened the folded page:

_Hey, gorgeous:_

_I don’t do awkward morning-afters. So I’m thinking we should hook up a few more times and after a while it won’t be awkward anymore. Next blackout, tell your roommate you’ve got a headache and then tie that glo-stick I left you to the doorknob if you want company. I’ll know what it means._

_And I really hope you stock up before then._

_Candy kisses,_

_G._

The note was folded up and stuffed into his pocket when he finally opened the door for Jess, who looked slightly sleep-deprived and relieved to see him in one piece. But as she dragged him out the door for breakfast, the furious blush he was sporting because of it caught her attention.

It wasn't the first time he’d had to withstand her interrogative skills. But it was one of the hardest.

* * *

Two weeks passed. Then three. Sam tried not to get anxious, upbraided himself whenever he caught himself analyzing body types of his fellow students, trying to guess possible identities of his mystery lover. He shouldn’t be letting this distract him, shouldn’t be hoping to run into the stranger in the light of day. He should just leave well enough alone, let his lover find him again during the next blackout; or even better, just let the interlude be a beautiful memory. He wished Dean was around to talk to. Much as Dean might mock him for a while, his elder brother was good at people and better at sex.

A poke between his ribs at lunch caught his attention. “Hey!”

“Call him.” Jess’ heart-shaped face was stern.

“Call who?” Sam looked perplexed, or tried to. Like Dean, Jess was frighteningly good at reading his mind.

“That itinerant brother of yours,” she replied confidently. “You’ve got that look on your face again; you should call him.”

“I don’t have a ‘look’,” Sam protested.

“You do so.” Jess put down her BLT wrap and pulled an expression of pensive melancholy. “ _Oh, I wish my carefree big brother was here. Maybe he could convince me to stop sighing over my one-night-stand._ ” Sam gave her a playful shove and she laughed out loud at him. “It’s true! You have a face when you want to his advice about something. And when am I gonna meet this legendary sibling of yours, anyway?”

“He’s supposed to come for Thanksgiving,” Sam admitted, finding himself once again excited at the prospect. Brady, along with most of the student body, would be going home for the break. The appliances in the kitchenette were possibly only slightly younger than Roble House itself, but they were functional, and what Sam couldn’t manage on them, he could with the microwave in his dorm room. It wouldn’t be like their mother’s Thanksgiving dinners, but they would be together, and that was enough for both of them. “He might still be around when you get back.”

“You’d better find a way to pin him down,” she commanded. “I’m not waiting until graduation to get acquainted with the only man that I _know_ won’t break your heart.”

Sam laughed and wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders. “Don’t worry, Jess. You’ll get your way… as usual.”

Jess gave a triumphant little smile as she finished off her lunch in two bites. “Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the series page for complete warnings, notes, acknowledgments and fanmix.

~ooooOOOoooo~

Sam’s earliest memories were of his mother and brother. John had worked long hours as a mechanic, having taking over the garage from its previous owner a few months before Dean had been born. Dean had been their mother’s helper, keeping Sam safe and content and out from underfoot while Mary kept house and went to school part-time to earn her CPA and started a modest home business to supplement their income. Dean was the one that helped Sam with his homework, that pushed him to practice the things their mother taught them about self-defense, that Sam could always count on to never be too busy to soothe an anxiety or a dream that felt too real even after he woke.

It didn’t stop his brother from being a genuine asshat when he wanted to be, though.

_“You did what, now?”_

Sam bristled a little at the incredulous tone, making what his brother so often called a “bitchface” at the phone. “Nothing you haven’t done before, Dean.”

_“Uh, no. I’m pretty sure I’ve never engaged in a rub-off during a blackout with a guy whose face I’ve never seen.”_ There was a vague note of brotherly pride under the snigger in Dean’s voice. _“Just when I think I’ve got you pegged, Sammy. So when’s the wedding?”_

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam snapped, though he was grinning as he did so. “I don’t even know his name.”

_“Wait. There’s somethin’ wrong with my phone. ‘Cause I swear I just heard you say you had an **anonymous** blackout party hookup.”_

“Man, could you possibly be more of a raging jackass about this?”

_“Sorry, Sammy. It’s just… I never thought you had it in you.”_

Sam smiled softly, remembering how much he’d liked the reckless feeling of letting go, of just enjoying the moment. “Neither did I, actually.”

He could hear Dean’s answering grin. _“Seriously, though… I know you, Sam. There’s no way you haven’t already made plans to at least see the guy again.”_

“Only plans we made were that if I hang the glo-stick he was wearing around his neck from my doorknob during the next blackout, we’d hook up again.” Sam could feel himself blushing and was glad Dean wasn’t there to see it. “And I honestly don’t know if he meant it or not. I mean, he didn’t just bail after… he spent the night… but that doesn’t mean anything.”

_“Well, don’t go lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth, man. You could use a no-strings sex buddy; keep you from spending every waking minute studying. College is supposed to be about more than just hitting the books, y’know.”_

“And you know this from… where? All the co-eds you’ve nailed?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Sam winced. He could tell from the quiet that Dean’s mouth had pressed into a tight, unhappy line. “Dean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just… between my scholarship and all that money you gave me…”

_“I’m not having this conversation with you again, Sam.”_ There was a note of finality in Dean’s voice. _“I do just fine between poker, pool and the share you talked me into taking. You’re the one with fancy organic places around every corner and books to buy that cost more than the tires for the Impala. Mom an’ Dad would want you to have it. You bring it up one more time, and I swear on Mom’s grave I’ll send you the rest.”_

“You could be doing this, too, you know,” Sam coaxed, wishing he didn’t feel like the arrangement they’d agreed to was cheating Dean out of something. “You could even just go to a local college, take classes in folklore and mythology and stuff… you’re smart enough, Dean, whether you believe it or not.”

_“Like you said, little bro: the only things I’m interested in on a college campus are the co-eds.”_ It was self-deprecating, an attempt to lighten the mood. _“Maybe someday, when I get too old for this gig, I’ll take a few formal classes and be like Bobby or Pastor Jim. But I’m happy where I’m at right now. And you need to quit changing the subject to my lack of college attendance every time I make a point about you lightening up a little.”_

“Okay, okay.” Sam sighed and gave up. “You’re still coming for Thanksgiving, right?”

_“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, man. Listen, Imma get some shut-eye; I’ll check in after this job’s done. And Sam?”_

“Yeah?”

_“Next time your gift horse shows up, don’t forget protection, okay? You get an STD and I’m gonna have to come down there and rip his lungs out, name or no name.”_

Sam laughed even as he blushed furiously. “I won’t, Dean. Just laid in a fresh supply in a new hiding place; Brady found the last one and kept raiding it.”

_“I so did not need to know that.”_ The face Dean had to be making was practically audible. _“Stay safe, little bro.”_

“You, too.” The line went dead, and Sam gazed at the phone for a moment as the screen went dark. He worried about Dean: out there by himself with only the strange cadre of allies he’d cobbled together, the Impala he’d inherited from their father and his own wits to keep him safe. But pushing Dean was next to impossible, and Sam knew it. Sighing, he turned to his computer and pressed the power button, intending to get some work done.

It wouldn’t start.

Sam frowned, pressing the button again. Still no reaction: no lights, no sound from the internal fans, nothing. Perplexed, he snapped his desk light switch. The lamp remained dark. Pushing his desk chair back and sliding to the floor, Sam crouched under the desk to check the surge protector. Despite flipping the switch a couple of times, there was no change in the situation on his desk.

No power. His heart picked up a little faster at the thought.

Still, he needed to be sure. He darted around the room, flipping every switch he could. The only light in the room was the soft glow coming from his and Brady’s alarm clocks, which were battery-powered to ensure that they wouldn’t oversleep if the power failed in the night, and the fading twilight that glowed through the curtains. A careful ear outside the room told him that it wasn’t just confined to his room. It was another blackout. Planned or not, they were out of power for the night.

A frisson of excitement raced across his nerves. Fingers fumbling a little, Sam ducked around his bed and opened up his footlocker, a gift from his father when Sam had been accepted to Stanford; the glo-stick was tucked carefully into a small box at the bottom, along with the supply of condoms and lube he’d just re-stocked.

The sound of the door opening caught Sam off-guard, and he dropped the box back into the locker as Brady came in with an exuberant greeting. “Hey, Sam! You coming or what?”

“Coming?” Sam looked up from rummaging through the locker’s contents, as if he’d been seeking something else entirely. “Where?”

“Party’s at Stern tonight.” Brady was grinning, obviously excited. “You gotta come, man!”

“How’d you hear about it so fast?” Sam stood up and closed the footlocker. “I only just figured out there was a blackout five minutes ago.”

“This one was planned; man, didn’t any of your profs announce it?”

The confusion on Brady’s face left Sam scrambling. “Uh… oh, yeah. They did. Listen, man: I’m not really up for a party tonight, okay?”

“Come on, Sam-”

“No, man. All right?” Sam hesitated, then shot him a meaningful look. “I got something else going on tonight.”

It took Brady a few seconds for that to sink in, and then understanding bloomed across his face. The smile born in its wake was equal parts open and sly, and he winked broadly. “Sure, Winchester. Whatever. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do… and if you do, tell me about it, okay?”

Sam gave him a playful shove towards the door. “Go on; get outta here. Have fun at the party.”

Brady took off, and Sam scrambled to his foot locker. He had time, he thought: time to shower, to tie the glo-stick to the door, time to feel ready and not make a nervous idiot of himself. It had been a long time since he’d fooled around with anyone, and Sam didn’t want to screw this up.

It was pitch black in the hall by the time he was reaching his dorm room from the showers; Sam didn’t need the flashlight he kept in his shower kit to find his way back, and the lack of noise told him that most of his dorm mates on this floor were either at the blackout party or were getting an early night’s sleep. He’d have to remember to keep it down so as not to disturb them. Being somewhat vocal in bed was apparently a Winchester family trait, if Dean and his father were any evidence.

Okay, _very_ vocal.

It wasn’t until Sam was two paces from the door when he noticed the figure standing there: a head smaller than he and lithe of frame, but nothing else could be told in the near total dark of the hall. “Hey.”

“Am I early, gorgeous?”

Sardonic, familiar voice, and a heady mixture of relief and arousal flooded through Sam as he closed the distance between them. “Only if you’re going to leave because I hadn’t gotten the glo-stick on the door yet.”

“Do I look like that much of a fool?” came the mocking reply.

“I don’t know what you look like.” Sam reached out in the dark, his aim true now that he could sense the proximity of another living soul, and slid his fingers along the arch of his lover’s cheek. “I’d like to.”

A low sound of want rolled in his lover’s throat, and then Sam’s robe was being half torn open and he was being climbed, kissed, hands knotted in his hair and Sam was reeling through the door with him. Whether the door closed or not, Sam couldn’t tell, but he didn’t care as he sprawled across the bed, his lover fighting off his robe and Sam peeling off his lover’s jeans, and a laugh bubbled up as Sam reared back to pull the denim free of his lover’s ankles and got half-kicked in the thigh as the smaller man tried to help.

“Something funny?” His lover peeled away his shirt as Sam stretched back out, molding his weight down into his lover’s frame and groaning at the contact.

“I laugh when I’m happy.” The answering smile on those lips was too tempting by half, and Sam slanted his mouth across them, dipping his tongue between them. He could taste mint and chocolate as his lover opened for him, fingers tangling in Sam’s hair and tugging and sending white-hot shocks down Sam’s spine.

His lover arched up into his frame, nimble fingers digging hard into the firm muscles of Sam’s shoulders. There was an abandon in him that made Sam feel drunk, wild and uninhibited and unashamed as his lover seemed to be. “Please tell me you stocked up.”

“Better believe it.” The snick of the cap was lost in his lover’s groan as Sam’s head ducked, his mouth latching on to suck a shallow half-moon into the tiny hollow at the base of the other man’s collarbone. His nose drank in the scent of his lover’s skin: warm and musky like greenhouse lilies, and soft as the petals as well.

It drew Sam on, leaving a treasure trail of purple-red bruises as he let his mouth wander from firm pectorals to the slight plump of abdominals that weren’t routinely chiseled by exercise. He’d forgotten all about keeping things quiet for the sake of his dorm-mates: the soft groans of approval had become full-blown moans, rolling long and unabashed from his lover’s throat as Sam slicked his fingers and brought them into the fold.

Warm and heavy, well-proportioned; Sam smiled even as he dipped his tongue into his lover’s navel, liking the weight of his lover’s sac in his hand. The effect was electrifying, sending a cascade of nonsense spilling from his lover’s lips as Sam massaged the delicate flesh, fingers grabbing at Sam’s hair and tugging in ways that had Sam doing a bit of moaning himself, the sounds half-muffled by the cut of his lover’s hips.

Sam absolutely loved having his hair played with during sex. Petting or tugging, fingers wound tightly at the scalp or tangled loosely in the waves. It was one of the reasons why he’d never shied away from giving a blow-job: it gave his partner ample opportunity to grab and tug and stroke and comb through it in reaction to what he was doing.

His lover’s apparent willingness to indulge that particular kink without being asked was more than Sam could’ve ever wanted. And it deserved proper gratitude. His fingers slid away from the warm cradle between his lover’s thighs to seek the lube bottle again even as Sam shifted even further down, his long legs dangling off the bed as he nuzzled the length of his lover, tongue flickering out to lap at the pearly fluid leaking from the tip before mouthing at the hood.

The fingers in his hair tightened sharply at that: too tight and sharp to be anything but painful. Sam’s head jerked up even as the soft gasp of dismay his lover had let out registered, a somewhat resentful expression on his face. “What was that for?”

“Don’t.” The word was breathless, tight and reedy from need and restraint. “It’s… I have a… um…”

Irritation bled away as the tone registered, and Sam’s features softened in concern. His lover was a man grown, and older than he. They knew nothing about each other. That this beautiful man had some kind of negative association with fellatio made Sam ache for him, for what must have happened to cause it, but Sam could deal. He shifted up to seal his mouth against his lover’s before the other man could continue to grope for words. “It’s okay,” Sam whispered, brushing reassuring kisses along the sculpted jaw. “It’s not even a thing. We can stop right now if you want.”

A tiny growl was Sam’s only warning before sharp teeth were nipping at his lips, and nimble fingers were stroking through his hair with ruinous intent. “Don’t you fucking dare. I didn’t ask you to stock up just so we could ride each other’s fists.”

Sam laughed at that, a booming sound that seemed almost too loud in the darkness surrounding them. And then he was ducking his head again, his mouth latching onto one erect nipple and nibbling as he added fresh slickness to his fingers and slid them back between his lover’s thighs, this time further back to dance along the sensitive ring of muscle hidden there.

His lover let out a shaking, shuddering moan at the contact, and then his hips were pressing down against Sam’s hand, urging for more, insistent and greedy until Sam acquiesced with a chuckle and a soothing murmur. Clenching muscles gave way easily as Sam slid one long finger to the knuckle, so easily that Sam added a second almost immediately. One of his two pillows was slipped under his lover’s hips as they bucked and twisted, and then Sam stretched out with his weight on his free arm, drifting kisses across his lover’s flushed skin as he scissored and teased and stroked the furled muscles into pliancy.

He could easily have spent hours on this part; might have, for all the notice Sam paid to time just now. The man spread out beneath him was beautiful: sharp-featured face slack with sensation and toned body arching into Sam’s every touch. His body was molten silk around Sam’s slick fingers, hinting at how tight and perfect it would feel when he was buried deep. Whys and hows and all other questions or doubts fled Sam’s mind, and he reveled in the quiet bliss that accompanied making his lover writhe under his touch.

The older man beneath him had other ideas, though; with a gasping whine of frustration, he suddenly bucked up and slung one leg over Sam’s hips, giving him enough leverage to push Sam over onto his back. A delighted grin tugged at Sam’s lips as his lover practically tore the condom in half in his haste to get it open and secured on Sam’s length, and he finally acquiesced, a murmured “all right, okay” buried beneath his lover’s moan as he guided that slick heat down to sheath him.

Sam watched, fascinated by the abandon in his lover as that supple spine arched, the other man’s head tipping back almost in relief. Slim hands were braced palms-flat on Sam’s chest, and deceptively strong thighs flexed as his knees tucked in against Sam’s waist. “Gods, yes,” breathed out above him, soft and almost reverent, and Sam couldn’t resist the urge to sit up, shifting the man seated astride him and wrapping his arms around that slender torso. The friction sent delicious thrills rippling through them both; Sam could tell from the tiny, fluttering ‘o’ that those sweet lips made right before he kissed them.

They were still kissing when Sam rolled them back over, his lover arching up into him as Sam pushed deep, sound devoured in hungry kisses and those dexterous fingers flexing almost spasmodically at Sam’s scalp. There was no hurry tonight, and Sam luxuriated in the way it felt to have this intoxicating stranger beneath him, pleading for more with sighs and moans and tight heat and strong thighs that flexed around Sam’s waist like they belonged there.

They chased it together, Sam fighting down the star that threatened to go nova at the base of his spine as his strokes grew more forceful and his lover babbled and begged nonsensical things. He wasn’t about to leave his lover behind: not this time. This time he wanted to feel that glorious body shiver and ripple around him before he let his own release take him.

“Come on, gorgeous,” his lover whined, twisting up under him, muscles clenching almost hard enough to make the latex between them meaningless. “Come on; come on; so close…”

One hand slid between them, wrapping around his lover’s steadily leaking erection where it was trapped in the cage of their undulating bodies. “You first,” he ordered, low and husky.

Almost fast enough to have been on command, his lover did exactly that: with a muffled shriek, that beautiful body locked and shuddered beneath him, tight heat clasping as if never to let Sam back out while hot saline spilled and spurted over Sam’s hand. 

Thought seemed to dissolve into smoke at that, and Sam was vaguely aware of releasing the quivering slick flesh in his hand and taking hold of those hips, his thumbs digging into the cut of them as he gave reign to his own desperate need for release. The man beneath him clutched with shaking hands, unable to keep his grip in Sam’s hair and palming at Sam’s upper arms with a sweat-sticky grip, soft clipped moans chuffing from his throat as Sam rutted into his body in a hard, stuttering rhythm. Uncounted moments passed in a haze of sensation, and then Sam was half-collapsing onto his lover with a groan as he filled the latex between them, a nonsensical wish firing across the back of his mind while his lover’s spent flesh gave another half-hearted blurt between them.

Sam didn’t know what to make of that exactly, but it lit up something primal inside him, something that wanted to tear away the second skin surrounding his flesh and start over. Something that wanted to mark the man beneath him with his seed and watch the lust write itself anew in his lover’s eyes as he did.

Instead, Sam gave them a moment of pause, his weight cradled by his lover’s hips, their limbs tangled loosely and their breath curling together hotly in the space between their mouths. When he finally felt he could trust his legs to hold him, Sam gingerly pulled free, kissing away the soft sound of protest that echoed beneath him, and then fetched damp cloths from the water closet to clean up with after he disposed of the used condom.

His lover readily snuggled in after they’d cleansed each other, his head tucking into the hollow of Sam’s shoulder. Sam shivered a little at that, the tickle of his lover’s hair sending spirals through his body and reminding him that the night was young. “Now _that_ was definitely worth the wait.”

Sam blushed, nuzzling the top of his lover’s head. “For me, too,” he admitted, voice hushed and almost bashful. “Um… this might be stupid…”

“Nothing’s stupid after sex except regret,” his lover asserted confidently.

It gave Sam boldness. “What’s your name?”

A warm chuckle vibrated against Sam’s skin. “Call me Gabe.”

“Short for Gabriel?” Sam pushed carefully.

There was the faintest pause. Then, “that’s what my father named me,” was whispered. “Don’t call me that, though. Please. Just Gabe, okay?”

Sam nuzzled him again, nudging gently until that sharp, shadowed face tipped up and Sam could kiss the almond-shaped eyes that he wished he could see the color of. “No problem.”


	3. Chapter 3

_December 2002_

It was nearly Christmas. No snow dusted the rooftops of the dorms or drifted on the sidewalks and quads: a stark contrast to the winters of Sam’s childhood. Only a few students had decorated for the holiday, mostly those that were staying over the winter intersession for one reason or another.

Sam wasn’t one of them. Everything Sam was taking with him was packed and in his car, and he had a flight out to South Dakota the following afternoon, where he and Dean would be spending Christmas with a hunter Dean had come to rely on. The man owned a salvage yard and had taken an unlikely liking to Dean, fondly calling him an ‘idjit’ and giving him work or help whenever Dean called.

Brady was gone already, having left before the semester had even ended to spend Christmas in Cancun. While Brady had always been more carefree than Sam, their dedication to their respective heavy course-loads and long-term goals had been a foundation for friendship between them instead of bemused tolerance. But something had changed over the past Thanksgiving break, and in the last month Brady had blown off classes, ignored all assignments and projects. Alcohol was rapidly becoming the least of his vices.

His sudden behavior change had the hair at Sam’s nape standing on end. His mother had warned him and Dean both about such drastic personality shifts could mean, and none of them presaged anything good. Brady had even started getting uneasy about Gabe’s visitations, and used the prospect of Sam’s lover dropping by as an excuse to go carousing.

It was an unexpected benefit, but Sam couldn’t feel entirely guilty about reaping it. Lately, blackout or no, Sam hung the glo-stick on his doorknob and his lover came as soon as they were cloaked in darkness. Much as Sam fretted about Brady’s altered personality and what it might portend, it had been all too easy to put off thoughts of intervention while cocooned with the passionate older man, whose caresses were so gentle and laughter so infectious.

After Christmas, Sam fully intended to get to the bottom of Brady’s metamorphosis, if only for the sake of one of the first friends he’d made here. But just now, Sam had other concerns to manage.

His attention snapped into focus when Gabe came strolling in the open door once it was fully dark outside, letting it drift shut behind him. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hey.” Sam watched his lover advance with hooded eyes, watched as something in his lover’s gait faltered as he neared the center of the floor, and then the shorter man stopped while still a few feet away, his head cocking to the side. “Something wrong?”

“You’re upset,” Gabe asserted quietly. “What happened? Big bro cancel Christmas? Or has that roommate of yours already landed himself in a Mexican prison?”

“No.” When his lover didn’t advance, Sam slowly uncoiled from his seat and rose.

“What then?” There was a quiet scoff. “Don’t tell me _I’ve_ done something.”

“It’s nothing you did; no,” Sam agreed. His voice felt low and rough, like their father’s had gotten after a couple glasses of whiskey. Sam wished he had some on hand just now.

“Then what?”

Sam could almost imagine seeing the brow between those almond-shaped eyes furrowing, or a perplexed frown on those talented lips. He wished he couldn’t. It would make all of this easier. But nothing had been easy in his life since his mother had revealed her secret, and he should’ve remembered that.

There was no sound but the tiny faint snick as his thumb depressed the button on his heavy-duty Maglite, his arm swinging up to aim the beam at the other man’s face. But as quickly as the light flooded from the end, it fizzled and winked out, and Sam felt his face contort into a snarl of anger as he extended his swing, intending to catch the smaller man across the face with the butt of the flashlight.

Without so much as a whisper of air, his lover was across the room, outside the bounds of the devil’s trap Sam had taken such pains to establish. The only way Sam knew he was still in the room at all was the heaviness of his breathing. “What the Hell was that for?”

“You’re not human,” Sam answered. It took effort to keep his voice flat and cool, to not let how much the revelation had affected him bleed through.

The silence between them was deafening, drowning out all but the sound of Sam’s own heartbeat in his ears. Then, soft and astonished: “You didn’t know.”

“And why would you think I knew?” Sam snapped, some of his anger leaking into his voice.

“Because you’re a hunter.” The reply was as offhand as it was shocking to Sam’s ears. “You keep it hidden well enough from humans, but most of them wouldn’t know a hunter from a neo-Wiccan anyway.”

It was all the confirmation Sam needed. The flashlight thumped to the floor as he bent, never keeping his eyes off the dark silhouette of the other man. The whisper of a blade drawing out of a sheath seemed inordinately loud in the quiet as he stood back up, his other hand tightening around the evergreen stake it had been gripping since before Gabe had come in. “What are you?”

Another heartbeat passed. “I can’t tell you that, Sam.”

“You’re not a demon,” Sam asserted, “not with how easy you danced out of my devil’s trap.”

“You could’ve set it wrong,” Gabe hedged.

“I didn’t.”

There was a bark of laughter. “You’re right; you didn’t. It’s actually strong enough to lock in somebody pretty high-level… if that somebody happened to be a demon.” Sam took a step towards him and the humor in his tone died away. “Now listen, gorgeous-”

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” Sam snarled. “You’ve been playing me since the beginning. Whatever your game is, it’s over. Now tell me what you are, before I figure it out by seeing what kills you.”

Another pregnant pause followed the threat. Sam knew his lover was considering his options; was no longer sure if the sigils he’d put up would keep the creature in this space long enough to be questioned. He needed to know what he was dealing with before… before…

“You’re not going to kill me.” Gabe’s voice was soft but certain, and he took a step closer as if to test the theory. “Even if you had something that could, you wouldn’t do it.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Sam warned.

This time, it was Sam remaining still while his lover advanced on him. This time, the steps were careful and non-threatening, as if Gabe was approaching a wounded animal that he wanted to help. “You’re angry; I get it. And maybe I neglected to mention that we’re not the same species. But you and me… there’s something special here, Sam. You’re hurt, but you’re not going to try to kill me.”

The hand with the dagger in it twitched, making the point of the knife flick up towards the creature before him. It was an old weapon, one of the set his mother had passed over to him years ago: handmade silver blade that he kept razor sharp with a hilt of ash that was worn smooth from generations of use. When his mother had told he and Dean her secret, she’d taught them what each and every sigil inscribed on the silver meant, how to cleanse and care for them.

His arm was coiled, ready to bury the blade in the creature’s gut. Better still, his throat, so he could no longer lie to Sam.

“Sam…”

“What do you want from me?” Sam demanded, the words breaking out. “Did he send you? Did he think that because you’re not a demon I wouldn’t figure it out eventually?”

“I’m not working you for anyone, gorgeous.” There was a trace of anger in that voice now, a possessive belligerence that sent unwanted thrills down Sam’s spine. “That roommate of yours might be, but not me.”

Shock washed through Sam at the accusation, driving him a step back in involuntary disbelief. But even as he opened his mouth to defend Brady, the words wouldn’t come. Too many clues fell into place too quickly: the sudden behavior change, the way he’d gotten a lot pushier about trying to get Sam to join him in his debauched pursuits. The subtle way Brady started probing for more information about his family, or how Sam would find things moved as if Brady had been searching his belongings for more than just Sam’s stash of condoms.

He’d shrugged all the signs off as Brady being Brady. Being the nosy, devil-may-care, boundaries-are-fluid roommate he’d befriended so easily last year. But if Brady was a demon now, and no longer Brady at all, Sam’s problems had just magnified exponentially. _Brady’s been avoiding the room whenever Gabe might be coming… or when he’s been here… what kind of creature could he be if a demon wants to avoid him?_

“Move in with me.”

“What?” Sam blinked, his shocked reverie broken. _That_ was the absolute last thing he’d expected his mysterious lover to say.

“It’ll be a lot safer than this place, and you’ll never want for anything. I’ll see to that. And then there’s the added bonus of not needing to dodge your potentially-possessed roommate anymore.”

Sam stared at the form of his lover: often little more than a shape in the darkness, but a shape he’d come to care for. “You’re joking.”

“You’re a hunter, Sam,” Gabe continued, his voice soft and coaxing. “It’s obviously in your blood; even if it’s not what you want your life to be full-time, you can’t unlearn what you’ve learned. You can be everything you are with me: law student, hunter, sex god.” That drew a blush from Sam, making Gabe smile. “C’mon, gorgeous. I may not be human, but I don’t prey on them and I think you know that on some level. We’re good together even when we’re not having sex, and the sex is _fantastic_. You know there’s too much right about this to turn me down.”

Slowly, carefully, the evergreen stake was set aside. The silver blade was sheathed in Sam’s boot. Gabe watched the way Sam’s muscles flexed in the half-shadow as the human put up his weapons, then crossed the distance between them at a deliberate pace.

A chill shot down Gabe’s spine as Sam closed on him, already towering over him and surely still growing, hazel eyes intense in the darkness. Not for the first time, he wished he could gaze upon this beautiful youth in the full light of day…

At once, he was grabbed by the arms, yanked up and in by powerful hands. It shocked out a gasp that was lost in the soft inhale of Sam’s breath before he spoke. “Tell me what you are.” A command, simple and direct, soft as a velvet glove over an iron fist.

“I can’t.” It was half-plea, half-defiance. He didn’t know who was leading this dance anymore.

“Tell me.” Sam bore him back, braced him against the wall. Those fox eyes were slitted and glittering, dangerous hungers waking behind them.

“I can’t, Sam.” Everything in him wanted to give in… give over to this beautiful, powerful man who would only get stronger with time…

“You will.” A threat. A promise. Sam’s hands bunched at the front of his lover’s shirt and tore it open, buttons pinging into the shadows as he lifted the smaller man higher… teeth stinging a trail from collarbone to nipples, hands braced under hips that jerked reflexively towards him as moans began to cascade from candy-sweet lips.

“Tell me.” Teeth pinched, nibbled; lips suckled flesh drawn red. A trail of bites blazoned black in the grey half-light, and all the while Sam held his lover fast, keeping him locked in place no matter how tightly those thighs clenched or how urgently those clever fingers knotted in his hair. “Tell me.”

“Can’t…”

His breath labored, or was it only his mind finding resistance a trial? Sam couldn’t tell. Could only proceed, refusing to give quarter. One hand gripped harder, shifting the weight of his lover while the other hand slid between them, opening the strained zipper of Gabe’s jeans.

It wasn’t surprising that there was no barrier between the hot line of his lover’s erection and the restrictive cotton, and Sam’s fingers snuck inside, his thumb sweeping lightly over the weeping slit. “I can make you tell me...”

“You think so, gorgeous?”

A challenge, toothsome and clever even when breathless. Sam grinned back. “I know so. Tell me what you are.”

“Don’t bet the house against an older man, Sammy.” A sinuous wriggle, giving a hint of friction against exposed flesh. The scratch of the zipper was nothing to the need for more pressure… for tighter gloving warmth than that massive hand around him… A soft hum rolled in Sam’s throat and then he was flying…

No. Not flying: falling. Gabe found himself dropped to the bed, abandoned and bereft of Sam’s warmth. He stared up in shock at the dimpled cocky smile his lover was wearing as the younger man sat back down in the desk chair. “Sam…!”

“Way I see it, you’ve got two options,” Sam’s voice was deceptively mild, his long fingers curling back around the evergreen stake with a slow, suggestive glide. Gabe let out an involuntary sound that was _so_ not a whimper. “One: you tell me what you are and maybe we establish some trust again.. Two: you don’t tell me, and I seal this room tighter than a submarine after banishing your ass.”

“You’ve never learned anything that could banish me,” Gabe retorted, starting to get irritated.

“Maybe not, but I _can_ wait you out,” Sam shot back, acid bitterness lacing his tone despite himself. “You’re always gone in the morning anyway.”

He saw Gabe absorb the words like a blow, regret twisting through his gut. The whole situation was a mess, but Sam hadn’t wanted to let on how much it all hurt, how much this… _thing_ had gotten to him. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge, even to himself, how much he was starting to love this man-shaped creature that had been warming his bed. It was stupid and reckless, and Dean would blister his ears for at least an hour over it when he finally owned up. Sam wanted, felt he _deserved_ an explanation.

Lost in his thoughts, Sam didn’t fight the fingers that slid into his, uncurling them so the stake clattered softly onto the desk. Blind from hurt and darkness, Sam hadn’t even noticed his lover moving. But then Gabe was gliding into his lap, wrapping around Sam and indulging his mouth with slow, soft kisses that beguiled the hurt away as he wound around Sam’s body. “Gabe… Gabe, don’t…”

“You have no idea how much I wish I could see you in sunlight,” Gabe murmured between kisses. “I’d kiss you everywhere it did… fly you somewhere warm and isolated and watch you blush when I hid your clothes… I can’t see you blush in the dark, you know: not properly. Not blooming crimson and alive under your skin… you can’t even guess how much I’d give to see you in my brother’s light…”

“Gabe…”

“There are no rainbows in the darkness, Sam,” Gabe murmured, his voice wet with tears. “I wish I could change that, but I can’t. This is all I can give… all I can _have_...” Sam silenced him, mouth pressing up to mouth and devouring words drenched in regret, tasting saline and licking it away like the sweetness he usually found on those lips. “Don’t be angry with me,” Gabe murmured, hands struggling with Sam’s clothes, desperate for skin… for warmth and life…

“Just tell me what you are,” Sam pleaded.

“I _can’t_.” Gabe made a frustrated sound. “I hate this… Sam, just let me…”

“Gabe…”

An oath growled out in a language Sam didn’t know, the language he thought he’d heard the last time Gabe had visited. In one smooth glide of those nimble hands, Sam’s clothes were gone, his lover naked in his lap and grinding against him with desperation Sam didn’t understand. “How’d you do that?”

“Magic,” Gabe whispered. “Need you so bad…”

“Jesus, Gabe…” Sam groaned, hands almost clammy as they pawed for purchase on Gabe’s slim, solid back. The chair rocked back sharply as Gabe shifted his weight and Sam overcompensated, sending them spilling onto the floor in a jangle of limbs. Sam started to scramble off, to apologize and find out if Gabe was hurt, but the words were still trying to form on his tongue when Gabe rolled them onto Sam’s back, right into the middle of the blue-tape devil’s trap that Sam had so painstakingly laid out on the carpet.

Between one startled blink and the next, Gabe had taken hold of Sam’s rock-hard erection and was pushing down onto it, seating himself in a smooth glide. It drove out a moan, Sam’s eyes rolling up at _tight_ and _heat_ and _need_ , and Gabe was shaking, quivering like the string of a fresh-fired crossbow, his thighs squeezing at Sam’s hips and his fingers flexing into the muscles of Sam’s chest. “Sam…”

“Shut up.” It took less than nothing to roll them, and then Sam was hammering deep, a punishing rhythm that would rub Gabe’s back raw across carpet fiber and tape edges. He didn’t care. Couldn’t bring himself to care. The safe little world he’d been building here at Stanford was crumbling in his hands, and Gabe wasn’t what he seemed nothing was what it seemed nothing was real except this and Dean was so far away…

Release ripped free of them both, a sob dragging brokenly from Sam’s throat as his whole body seemed to twist and wring under the force of it. Sam collapsed away from his lover, limp and aching, confused and wishing not for the first time that his mother could truly have outrun her family’s legacy.

Slowly, Gabe rolled and inched until he was tucked against Sam’s side. Sam couldn’t make himself push the creature away from him, not when the familiar weight was still soothing in spite of everything. He wanted to roll and bury his face in Gabe’s hair, to let the other man comfort him just by being there. The fingers of Gabe’s hand crept up to rest over Sam’s heart, then started straying, tracing idle patterns across Sam’s torso.

He felt them still when they found it: the soft uncalloused pads brushing over the edge of the hypertrophic scar just below Sam’s waistline. He felt the question in the way Gabe’s head lifted from its cushion against the hollow of his shoulder, in the exploratory drift of those fingers along the edges of the now-raised tissue. “It happened when we were together last night,” Sam murmured. “I didn’t notice until this morning, and you were already gone.”

“I…” A hesitation, then a deep sigh of regret. “I didn’t know I’d done it… that it was even possible. Gods above, Sam: if I’d known…”

“You still would’ve left.” It was an accusation, hurt and anger commingled but lacking the heat of his earlier fury. “You always leave.”

“I have to.” Gabe sighed again, then sat up. Sam followed suit, watching the outline of his lover shifting into a cross-legged position. “Please understand, Sam: my kind was forbidden to appear to humans in sunlight or firelight aeons ago. Even electricity counts. If I’d so much as let you shine that flashlight on my little toe, they’d hoist my petard faster than you could see, and I’d never be allowed back within a mile of you for as long as you live.”

“They?” Sam felt some of his anger ebbing, curiosity edging into control. “They who?”

Nimble fingers reached out, tangling into Sam’s hand. “We all have rulers, Sam. Creatures above and below and right beside you: all of the five realms have their leaders, and those leaders rule with absolute authority.”

“Heaven, Hell, Earth…?”

“Purgatory and Avalon,” Gabe clarified. “The Gods in the Heavens, Lucifer in Hell, Eve in Purgatory, and Oberon and Titania in Avalon.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “That’s only four. Who rules Earth?”

He could almost feel the smile in the darkness. “Humans. Fractious, confused, good-hearted, clumsy, beautiful humans.”

For some reason, the words sent a dark, cold thrill through Sam’s veins. Tingles of power promised in a whisper, born of blood and sealed with iron. He shook it off, hating the reminder of the mystery surrounding his infancy. If Gabe noticed, he didn’t give any sign. “So you can’t be seen by sun or fire or even electrical light… what about starlight? Or moonlight?”

Sam knew he was smiling then; could see it in the way Gabe’s eyes tilted up just a little in the shadows of the room. “Looking for loopholes. I like the way you think, Sam.” He chuckled softly, squeezing Sam’s hand. “Yes, we can allow humans to see us in the light of the moon and stars. The other stars are too far away to count like this sun does, and moonlight is just sunlight mirrored by the moon. It doesn’t have the same effect that direct light does.”

“And what’s that?” Sam asked.

“Sorry, gorgeous; that’s treading on the other prohibition I have to deal with.” Almost as if the topic discomfited him, Gabe scooted closer, his grip on Sam’s hand tightening. “If we’d just run across each other as hunter and prey, I could tell you what I am. I could probably have gotten away with you finding out even given that first night we spent together, but only if it’d been a one-night show. The relationship that we have now… if I told you what I am, your reaction could be… misconstrued, and I’d get yanked out.”

He didn’t want to ask. It was stupid to even consider it. Sam should still be making a clean break here and getting the truth, not a bunch of vague exposition. But he couldn’t stop the words from coming. “And what exactly is the relationship we have right now?”

Slow as honey, Gabe glided into Sam’s lap, straddling him and wrapping deceptively strong arms around his neck. “I care about you, Sam. A lot. And I think you care about me. I wasn’t just blowing smoke when I said we’re good together. I want you every second I’m not with you. I want you to move in with me so that the very minute the sun goes down, I can reach out my hand and find you beneath it.”

“Why?” Sam asked, voice quiet and uncertain. “Why did you pick me over one of your own kind? Why me when you can’t even tell me what you are?”

“Because, gorgeous,” Gabe murmured, mouth drawing closer and closer until his lips brushed Sam’s as he spoke, “you shine brighter than the morning star. How could I _not_ want you?”

It was stupid. Sam knew it. Knew it and repeated it to himself, one last defensive wall trying to shield his heart. He should break this off. He shouldn’t let this go even an inch further. Whatever Gabe was, he wasn’t human, and non-humans had interfered in Sam and his family’s life enough. He should make Gabe leave and mourn the loss of this wonderful something they were on the cusp of and find someone human.

But Brady had very likely been replaced by a demon, and neither Sam nor Dean was any closer to discovering the agenda of the demon with the yellow eyes. Gabe was offering safety and security, comfort and companionship. It felt like truth when Gabe said he wasn’t working Sam, and Sam wanted to believe it. He might even have information or sources that could help uncover Yellow Eyes’ motives for interfering with the Winchester family.

And then there was the deep ache, throbbing in Sam’s chest like a second heartbeat ever since Gabe had tripped into his life. The sweetness of it when Gabe was near, and the hollow of it when they were apart. Sam didn’t want to label it, but he knew what it would become if he let it grow.

It was reckless and stupid and likely to be the worst decision he ever made, but Sam let his eyes drift shut, closed the last breath of distance between them, and let himself take a leap of faith.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late, guys; health issues interfered with me posting earlier in the day. -___- I hate flu season.
> 
> Please see the series page for complete warnings, notes, acknowledgements and fanmix.

~ooooOOOoooo~

Bobby Singer was a curmudgeonly mechanic/hunter who seemed to only stave off developing the rust some of his wrecks did by drinking the most rotgut whiskey he could lay hands on. He was ornery, occasionally abrasive, and didn’t even blink before giving Sam’s floppy hair and clean-cut college wardrobe the stink-eye from beneath his trucker cap and ordering Sam to hurry up settling in because dinner wasn’t eating itself.

Sam liked him immediately.

It wasn’t hard to see why Dean liked the older man, after all: Bobby was gruff but good-hearted, and while most would consider the Christmas decorations he’d put up meager, they were thoughtfully placed and gave the house a warm feeling without being overly noticeable. Bobby claimed he didn’t have the time or patience to put up a lot of fuss that he’d just have to take right back down, but Dean and Sam just exchanged smiles that said plainly they didn’t believe it for a moment.

Even though Bobby had more guest space than Sam had expected, Sam piled his stuff into the room Dean had taken. They were all each other had left in the world, with the exception of some cousins neither really trusted. Sam wanted to be close to Dean just now, to have the time to whisper with him like they had as children. To remember their parents and Christmases past and fall asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing.

The quiet delight in Dean’s viridian eyes when he noticed was proof enough that Dean wanted the same. It had been too long since they’d been together. ‘Twinchesters’, they’d sometimes been called back home, especially once Sam had shot up like a weed and the difference in their ages wasn’t all that noticeable. Their parents had tried to impose limits on their closeness as they’d gotten older, but anything the brothers hadn’t agreed to had quickly fallen by the wayside… especially once the revelation about Yellow Eyes and their mother’s secret heritage had driven them even closer.

It wasn’t until late in the night, when dinner was over and the presents Sam had brought were added to the pile next to the tiny artificial pre-lit tree that Bobby had set up on his bay window that Sam even dared broach the subject he’d been dying to discuss with Dean. “Brady’s showing signs of possession,” he murmured softly.

“Since when?” Dean’s alarm was conveyed only by the sharpness of his hiss. They lay facing each other on the bed, the dim glow of the alarm clock the only light in the room.

Sam wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that his most important conversations in life tended to take place in near-complete darkness. “Since Thanksgiving. He came back… different.”

“You thinking about testing him?” Dean asked, all business. “Bless the bottled water in your fridge, or hide a devil’s trap under his bed maybe?”

“I thought about it, but if I flush him out and exorcise the demon, they’ll know I’m onto them. They could possess anybody on that campus, Dean, and all one has to do is slip under my radar. I can’t defend myself against this from a dorm room.”

Dean reached out, putting a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “What do you want to do, Sammy? You’ve got some kinda plan in that giant brain of yours; no use hedging when you want my okay to go with it.”

“I don’t need your permission, jerk,” Sam snarked, grinning cheekily at his elder brother. “I could just go ahead and do it and you couldn’t stop me.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Sammy,” Dean retorted, his own grin unfurling across his handsome face. “You ask my permission for everything, just like a good little bitch. Now what’s this genius plan?”

“You’re an ass.” Sam half-heartedly shoved at Dean, though his brother wasn’t moved even a millimeter, then sobered. “You remember the guy I’ve been hooking up with? The one from the blackout party?”

“You think I’d forget the first time you acted like you had an actual sex drive?”

“Dean, cut it out!”

Sam’s voice was pitched louder than he’d intended, little-brother pique overcoming how quiet they were trying to be. They both froze for a moment, waiting for sounds that indicated Bobby had been woken; when none were forthcoming, both let out their held breath and Dean mumbled an apology. “Old habits, Sammy. You’re too romantic for your own good, sometimes.”

“You’re more romantic than I’ve ever thought of being, asshole,” Sam hissed. “You just hide it under so much machismo it’s a wonder anyone believes you’ve ever had sex at all.”

“You gonna keep taking cheap shots at me?” Dean asked, one eyebrow quirked. “Or are you gonna tell me how short and mysterious in the dark pertains to you handling a demon possessing your roommate?”

“He’s asked me to move in with him.” Silence followed that declaration, and Sam pressed on. “Gabe… the guy I’ve been seeing… he’s older than me, and he’s got a place off campus. It’d be easier to ward, and I’ll be able to see them coming, whether it’s Brady or someone else. Plus most of my living expenses would be cut in half.”

Dean’s other eyebrow joined the first. “You picked yourself up a sugar daddy, Sammy? And you think you can hide demon wards from him in his own house?”

Sam licked his lips. “He knows about hunting. He actually figured Brady out, too, on his own; that’s when he made the offer for me to move in with him. He wants me to be safe.”

“He’s a _hunter_?” Dean sat up, his expression incredulous. “Sammy, I don’t think I like this idea. You wanted to stay away from the life, get a law degree so you could keep guys like me outta jail-”

“No, he’s not a hunter,” Sam interrupted quickly, sitting up as well. “He just knows about the life; recognized the signs of the precautions I’d taken from knowing other hunters. He wants to give me someplace safe, and with Brady maybe possessed and God only knows who else…”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Dean sighed heavily, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged and shifting to face Sam fully. He sat quietly for a moment, his expression careful and considering. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like telling half-truths to Dean, especially when a demon had apparently gotten so close to him. He should be asking Dean to come to Stanford and help him; should be ending the relationship with Gabe. But Gabe had wormed his way into Sam’s heart, and Sam wanted to solve the mystery of him before he told Dean everything. “Yes, I do,” he admitted. “He’s really good to me, Dean… and it’s the fastest, best way I can think of to get out of the room without alerting the demons that I know they’re there.”

Another long minute passed, Dean’s eyes measuring Sam and his mind tumbling the situation over and over. “Far be it from me to keep you from your sugar-daddy, Sammy. Just don’t get so busy putting out that you start flunking your classes.”

An affronted expression flared across Sam’s face and he let out an outraged sound before shoving at Dean. His elder brother surged back at him, tossing Sam back onto the bed and restarting a wrestling match that seemed to have been going on for most of their lives.

When they finally exhausted their desire to wrangle, they collapsed into each other, panting and smiling. “You’re getting rusty,” Sam accused softly.

“I’m not getting regular sex like you are,” Dean defended. When Sam snorted, Dean ruffled his hair. “Get some sleep, Sammy. Bobby’s phone starts ringing early, and it’s loud as fuck.”

They shifted and settled and slept that way, tangled around one another like exhausted puppies in their den. It was the easiest sleep either had had in a long time.

* * *

_January 2003_

“How did you get this place?” Sam stared around the dark apartment, his eyes huge as they took in a long bay of windows, the ceilings that vaulted high above even his head, and the plush carpet that made Sam’s toes twitch for want of curling into it. It wasn’t just an apartment. It was a penthouse, minutes from Stanford and with a breathtaking view of Palo Alto and San Francisco Bay.

“I have my ways.” Gabe was grinning as he watched Sam explore. “There’s a study for your burgeoning law library, too.”

“We can’t afford this.” Sam turned and focused on his lover, feeling vaguely breathless. “There’s no way we can afford this; how did you do this?”

“I’ve been around a while longer than you, gorgeous.” Gabe walked over, his expression mischievous. “A guy can build up all kinds of resources over the years, especially when there’s little incentive to use them for himself.”

Sam gazed down at him, eyes searching for signs that this was some kind of prank or trick or scam. “You’re serious. This place… this is our place. We can really live here together?”

“From sundown to sunrise, roomie.” Gabe’s mouth twitched. “And so long as the sun’s in the sky, you’ve got it all to yourself.”

That was the downside. Sam knew nothing good came without one. But as downsides went, it wasn’t a deal-breaker yet, and he couldn’t find it in himself to push that particular envelope. Not when this meant a haven from crazy dorm parties and Brady’s suspicious behavior, a place for Dean to stay when he came visiting that wasn’t a ratty motel. This was a step towards a real home again, and Gabe was offering it to him as blithely as a stick of gum.

Gabe let out a gasp as Sam pulled them together, one large hand splaying across the small of his back as the young human spun them around and backed him up to the bank of tall windows. “Sam…”

“Shhh…” Sam leaned in, brushing their lips together. It was too quick, too light; Gabe whined at the lack of pressure even as Sam’s hands slid between them. Deft fingers slipped into the spaces of denim already straining, and the buttons keeping the jeans closed popped free as Sam jerked the material open.

“Thank God for button flies,” he murmured, drawing a chuffing laugh from Gabe even as Sam’s hands slid inside, grazing hard flesh and turning the sound into a gasp. “Don’t you ever wear underwear?”

“Not around you.” Giving his jeans an impatient shove, Gabe kicked them aside as Sam’s hands glided around his waist, down over the curve of his backside, each palm cupping one cheek and squeezing just a little. Heat shot through him as the young human grinned against his lips, and Gabe wound his hands into that silken hair to tug in the ways he knew Sam loved. “Sam…”

“Patience is a virtue.” Sam grinned at the irritated sound that quip earned, and then he folded down, coming to his knees and lowering his head to brush an open-mouthed kiss to the tender swell below Gabe’s navel.

“Not one of mine.” Those hands were still in Sam’s hair, tangling and tugging and sending waterfalls of exquisite tingles down the length of Sam’s spine. “S-sam… Sam, don’t… not-”

“You sure?” Sam let his breath ghost over the warm, baby-smooth skin of those hips. He loved Gabe’s skin: loved kissing it and running his fingers over it, nibbling on it and lapping at it with tiny licks that made Gabe babble. It was always so soft and smelled like the lilies his mother had bought every Easter and he couldn’t get enough…

The fingers in his hair tightened, knotting too tight in what was a familiar warning by now, and Sam reluctantly pulled back, tipping his head to look up at his lover. Eyes somehow luminous even in shadowed moonlight, anxious and apologetic gazed back at him. “I… it’s a hang-up. Stupid, I know, especially given how ridiculously hot you look on your knees. But I…”

The explanation was cut off as Sam surged up, kissing his lover breathless, tongue sweeping in and pushing aside words he didn’t want to hear and claiming that clever, beautiful mouth. Never breaking his grip on Gabe as he stood up, he lifted his lover clear off the ground and braced him against the glass wall behind them.

“Don’t apologize,” Sam ordered, voice husky and low as he fumbled to shove his own jeans and boxers out of the way while Gabe clung to his torso with arms and legs wrapped tight. “Think it’ll hold up?”

“What?” Gabe asked, distracted as two fingers came to rest on his lips. He curled his tongue around them on instinct, drawing them into his mouth and slicking them thoroughly, and then his head fell back with a thud against the window behind them as Sam removed the wet digits from his mouth and pushed them all the way to the third knuckle into Gabe’s willing body.

“The glass.” That voice was even lower now, the words curling around Gabe’s ear like smoke and making his entire body clench for want of more than just fingers inside him. “Think we’ll break it?”

His clever young lover twisted and scissored those fingers even as he spoke, the pads of them flirting with Gabe’s prostate and for a moment Gabe could only keen in response, his erection achingly hard and leaking steadily where it was trapped between their bellies. “Better not,” he gasped. “Re… reinforced.”

Sam gave a considering hum as he hitched the smaller man a little higher, teasing the firm little nodule under his fingertips one last time before sliding his fingers out so he could get more lube from his pocket. Gabe didn’t have long to protest the loss before Sam was shoving in, burying himself in one long drive that could only be described as relief for both of them. “Let’s find out.”

* * *

A thousand times after moving in with Gabe, Sam vowed to ask more questions of him about what kind of creature he was: the powers he had and the prohibitions of his kind, the nature of his true face and the realm to which he owed allegiance.

And yet every day as dusk fell, Sam found such thoughts and vows falling away in the moonlit glow that let him see Gabe’s smile, in the warmth of the passion Gabe had for him.

At least as often, Sam tried to remember to ask Gabe about Yellow Eyes and what Gabe might know of him or his cronies. Brady’s possession was no small problem, and his friend was still setting off Sam’s internal alarms even after moving out of the dorms. Sam hadn’t dreamt of Yellow Eyes in years, but the threat of him and what he wanted Sam for loomed on the horizon of Sam’s mind, a dark cloud promising storms and destruction.

But just as the questions would form, Gabe would reach out and brush fingers through his hair, or ask how his classes were going, or pop some exotic sweet between his parted lips, and Sam would lose his train of thought.

His days were his own, and he could devote his time to studying and research when he wasn’t in class. Jess came over frequently, her vivacious presence a balm against the loneliness that always crept up on Sam when he found himself conscious of the quiet that reigned when Gabe wasn’t there. He knew Gabe was conscious of it, too, and Sam knew there was only so much his lover could to make up for it, though he often sensed that Gabe was even more disturbed by it than Sam was himself.

If feeling like his entire life was a liminal space was the worst side effect of the Winchester-Campbell family legacy, Sam could deal with it. Especially with someone like Gabe to share that space with him.

* * *

_February 14, 2003_

Sam felt like he’d spent almost his entire Valentine’s Day in the kitchen, trying to make sure dinner came out perfectly: eggplant parmesan, with bruschetta and a green salad. He’d actually broken down and used the fake ID Dean had given him when he’d left for college to procure a sparkling Lambrusco to pair with dinner, poured over hibiscus blossoms (an aphrodisiac, Gabe adamantly claimed, which was why he kept a jar of them preserved in syrup in the refrigerator). And, knowing his lover’s sweet tooth quite well by now, an organic chocolate lavender cake layered with jam and cream cheese frosting for dessert.

This was to say nothing of the chocolate body paints artfully arranged at their bedside for later.

When the sun was gone and the sky had grown dim enough, Gabe appeared from nowhere as was his wont, wrapping his arms around Sam from behind and kissing his spine. “Happy Valentine’s Day, gorgeous.”

Sam turned in his arms, leaning down to brush his mouth over Gabe’s when the shorter man instantly looked up seeking kisses. “Happy Valentine’s Day. You’re hungry, I hope?”

“If we’re eating what I’m smelling, you’d better believe it.” Gabe grinned up at him roguishly before tipping his face into Sam’s shoulder and inhaling deeply. “I’m ravenous, actually.”

“Gabe!” Sam pushed his lover back gently, laughing. “C’mon; I’ve been working on this dinner for most of the day.”

“Okay, okay.” Gabe was still wearing that broad smile, unable to contain it in his own excitement. “But you might want to open your present first.” Sam quirked a curious look, but Gabe was already clasping his hand and pulling him towards the couch before he could ask.

Their main dining area was in the kitchen, but a more intimate table was set near the windows, letting them eat in the light of the moon and stars. Sam had laid out their Valentine’s dinner there, and Gabe’s smile went soft at the edges to see it before tugging Sam over to the large-ish box sitting on the floor by the coffee table. It was plain cardboard, with scarlet ribbon wound artfully around it and tied off in an intricate bow that was easily the size of Sam’s head.

“Gabe, please tell me you didn’t get too extravagant on me.” Sam knelt before the box with a knot of concern in his stomach. His lover had a taste for lavish indulgences, and had both the resources to acquire them and the leisure to enjoy them. Sam didn’t like the idea of using Gabe’s money, even though Gabe had offered him an account that would easily have quadrupled his bank balance, and lived off his own money as much as he could even now. “My present for you is pretty much the food over there.”

“A well-prepared meal is a more thoughtful gift than people think it is, Sam.” Gabe’s eyes were crinkled at the edges, his smile never wavering. “At least to me, and I mean to savor every mouthful. Now quit trying to develop an inferiority complex and open it.”

Sam shot him a look, then considered the gift. After a moment, he realized that there was a Velcro strip under the bloom of the bow, and he detached it. The convoluted cradle that the ribbon had made around the box loosened and slithered to the ground, and one of the panels of cardboard fell open with a soft rustle. Confused, Sam started to turn the box so he could see inside…

And then a little black nose poked into view, sniffing avidly at the world which had opened up around it.

Sam’s eyes went wide as he finished turning the box. Sure enough, a puppy that could probably sit comfortably in the palms of his cupped hands was busily investigating the scents that had suddenly become available to his eager little nose, his pointed ears up and alert. Its fur was reddish with black tips, and it was all Sam could do to keep from reaching out and cradling it close.

“He’s a Shiba Inu,” Gabe confided quietly. The puppy’s head lifted at the sound, and brown-black eyes focused on Sam with total fascination. “Six weeks old and probably healthier than both of us.”

“Gabe…” Sam was speechless. Half breathless. He slowly extended a hand as the puppy trundled forward on its little legs, now actively investigating Sam. Its little tongue lapped out, running along ridge of Sam’s knuckles, and then Sam just couldn’t help himself any longer. He had the puppy scooped up in a moment, and the tiny creature responded instantly with animated sniffing and licking over most of Sam’s face.

When the adorable scene finally settled and the puppy was safely ensconced in Sam’s lap, he looked back up to Gabe. “You got me a dog?”

“I remembered that story you told me about the stray you took care of for a few weeks when you were a kid.” Gabe scooted a little closer and leaned into Sam’s side, scratching between the puppy’s ears. “And I know that even with your little nymph popping in all the time, you get lonely during the day. I thought…” He trailed off, sadness creeping into his tone.

“I love him,” Sam asserted instantly. “And yeah, I know what you thought. You’re probably right.” He considered the puppy for a moment, then looked up at Gabe with a mischievous smile. “I’m naming him Abraxas.”

Gabe’s eyebrows shot up, an oddly aching expression Sam didn't understand twisting across it before it smoothed back into his lover's usual sardonic humor. “Now that’s a name no one’ll get confused about at the dog park.”

“Shut up. He’s my dog; I’ll name him what I want. And I can call him Brax for short.” Sam leaned in and kissed the smaller man, careful not to dislodge the puppy in his lap. “Thank you, Gabe. He’s awesome.”

“So’re you, gorgeous.” Gabe smiled. “Now let’s get the baby settled into his playpen and have that fabulous meal you promised me.”

“Why do I get the feeling that all the necessary supplies have appeared just as suddenly as my new companion?” Sam asked, laughing as he picked up the puppy and stood.

“Because you’re a genius,” Gabe replied with total nonchalance. “Also, I’m terribly predictable.”

Sam leaned over again and kissed the top of Gabe’s head before walking over to the crate which was, conveniently, nestled right next to the table where they were about to eat. Just as Sam thought, it hadn’t been there before Gabe’s arrival. “Liar.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the series page for complete notes, warnings, acknowledgements and fanmix.

~ooooOOOoooo~

_January 30, 2004_

“All right, Sammy.” Dean shot his brother a stern look over breakfast. “What gives?”

Sam looked up from his granola, his expression honestly puzzled. “Whaddya mean, ‘what gives’?”

“This sugar daddy you’ve hooked up with,” Dean clarified. “It’s been a year since you moved in here. You claim he knows about hunting. You said you told him about me and that you help me out with research on my cases. You’ve even said he’s been able to point you in the right direction a couple times. Whenever I talk to you on the phone, you’re yammering on about what the two of you have been up to or I hear him in the background playing with Brax, or he’s practically hanging up the phone on me because he wants to fuck and doesn’t feel like waiting anymore. And yet every time I’m in town, he’s magically not available for the standard family meet & threaten.”

That last part pulled a snicker and a smile out of Sam. “I think you mean ‘meet & greet’, Dean.”

“You greet people when you meet ‘em,” Dean replied airily. “So meet & greet’s actually redundant. And I know a standard Sammy-Winchester evasion tactic when I hear one, so save your breath for answering the more important questions.” He fixed Sam with an implacable expression. “What’s the deal with lover-boy?”

Mentally, Sam berated himself for a moment as he debated how to answer. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known this conversation was in the offing, and he’d known since he’d woken with a print from Gabe’s hand burned into his hip that Dean wasn’t going to like any of the answers he was demanding.

The second semester of his sophomore year and first semester of his junior had been spent in a domestic bliss that Sam hadn’t expected to find for years, and Gabe being a supernatural creature of some kind gave the truly unanticipated bonus of not needing to hide anything about his life. His mother had hidden much of her true past from her family for years, and Sam had expected to do the same when he eventually found a partner to settle down with.

But as time passed and his relationship with Gabe only seemed to grow stronger and more stable, Sam had gotten comfortable. He was happy and safe. Whatever Gabe was, it was apparently something that demons gave a wide berth to rather than confronting, and it meant that the only place Sam needed to worry about dealing with them was on campus. His grades got, if possible, even better, and he’d gotten a 174 on his LSATs. He was nearly guaranteed admission to Stanford Law, and he was on the verge of locking up a hotly prized summer internship at one of the best criminal defense firms in the city.

All of which meant that he’d started to ignore the fact that this conversation was a certainty, not merely a probability. And that he knew Dean had been increasingly unconvinced by the admittedly-feeble explanations he’d been giving for why Gabe was always out of town whenever Dean was going to be visiting.

One of Dean’s eyebrows arched: a clear ‘I’m waiting’ signal. Sam finally just decided to dive headlong into the conversation and take his lumps as they came. “He doesn’t come around when you’re here because he knows you’ll ask more questions if he’s here.”

“And just what the Hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean’s other eyebrow joined its mate, his expression dangerous. “Is he married? Is he keeping you shacked up here to hide you from his wife and kids? Sammy, I swear: if you’d told me this back when-”

“He’s not human.”

Dean’s mouth was still open, but whatever dire threats had been about to spill from his tongue curled up and died there in the wake of that declaration. Then, slowly, Dean’s generous lips drew together and compressed into a fine white line of anger. “You didn’t just say that.”

“I did, Dean.” Sam took another breath and kept going. “He’s not human, and whatever he is, he’s not allowed to show himself to humans in daylight. So we spend the nights together, and days I spend with Brax and Jess, studying and doing research for you and going to class and everything-”

“No, no, no, no, _no **NO**_ , Sam!” Dean shoved up from the breakfast table, his bacon and eggs forgotten as he paced away and then rounded on his brother. “You are _not_ telling me that you’re actually _knowingly_ involved with something that guys like us _hunt_!”

Abraxas was standing between Dean and Sam, growling low in his chest. Sam shifted to kneel beside the dog, putting hands on the animal and trying to keep him from springing at Dean in defense of his master. “I didn’t know until we’d been sleeping together for a few months. By then, it wasn’t that easy to just walk away.” He didn’t see the need to mention to Dean that he’d been completely ready to kill Gabe himself when he’d found out. What was important now was making Dean understand why he _hadn’t_.

“Yeah, it actually is, Sam. You figure out what he is, you ice the sonuvabitch, and you walk away.” Dean swore, taking the hint that he shouldn’t get too aggressive and bringing his tone down a notch. The yearling canine was fiercely protective of his master. “You even bother to run any tests? Or did you just assume Yellow Eyes is above laying honey traps?”

“He’s not a demon,” Sam replied, soft but starting to get angry. “I set a devil’s trap when I started to suspect that something wasn’t right. He walked into it and right back out again. No demon can do that.”

“So he’s something else,” Dean agreed grudgingly. “Doesn’t mean he hasn’t been playing you from the start, Sam. What better way to soften you up for Yellow Eyes than to convince you that your roommate’s a demon and that you need to hole up in his private little prison? Come and go as you please, right up until you can’t anymore… and you’ve been going along with it for… what, exactly? Even I won’t go that far for a decent fuck.”

Sam bristled at that, standing and starting towards Dean. “You act like you’re the first one to think of all this. Well, it’s all already crossed my mind, Dean, and I trust him anyway-”

“How long have you known he’s not human?”

“I don’t see how that-”

“ _How **long**_ , Sam?”

No matter how hard Sam tried to rebel against it, there was something about Dean’s ‘big brother’ tone that compelled him to answer, his shoulders drooping and his face turning away from his elder brother’s unflinching gaze. “Since before I left for the Christmas break when I asked your opinion about moving in with him.”

Viridian flames leaped, and Dean’s fists involuntarily closed. He forced them back open. “A year. You’ve _known_ that he wasn’t human for a _year_.” He took a long, deep breath and closed his eyes, his head giving a little twitch-shake. “I knew you were lying to me about something… never thought I’d see the day it’d be something like this, though.”

“I didn’t…” Sam’s voice died. He had meant to; couldn’t lie now and protest that he hadn’t. “I didn’t want to tell you until I knew more myself. He claims that he can’t tell me what he is, and to be honest? Nothing fits. There’s nothing about him that matches up to anything we’ve seen or heard about in Mom’s family's journals.”

“Doesn’t make it any better, Sam.” Dean sank back into his chair, half-heartedly poking at the remains of his eggs. “So what _do_ you know about him?”

“He doesn’t prey on humans; his kind is forbidden by the rulers of one of the other Four Realms from appearing to humans in daylight.” Sam ticked off the information, sitting back down as well and petting a still-anxious Abraxas. “He’s got a pretty voracious sweet tooth, no reaction to any kind of metal, wood or holy object, and can appear or disappear at will.” A fond smile pulled across his face. “Though he likes to do it with a snap of his fingers. Adds a bit of style, according to him.”

“He can screw himself with his style,” Dean snarled, voice low and furious. “What else?”

“Demons don’t like being around him; at least Brady doesn’t.” Sam chewed on his lip. “I _was_ able to get confirmation about Brady, by the way.”

“How?” Dean knew it was an attempt to change the subject, but knowing about the demonic presence on Stanford campus was important, too. “Especially without him knowing you were behind it?”

“On Halloween.” A smile crept across Sam’s face. This one, he was particularly proud of. “One of our friends was dressed up as the priest from _**The Exorcist**_ , and he was carrying around little bottles of holy water with spray heads on top so that he could spritz people with it.”

Dean gave a knowing grin. “And I’m guessing you suggested it, huh?”

“Through Jess; she’s pretty good at being a co-conspirator about a lot of things.” Sam shrugged. “There wasn’t a very big reaction; he dodged most of the spray, but I saw what I needed to see.”

“Anybody else in the crowd react the same way?”

Sam shook his head. “Not that I saw. But where there’s one, there’s bound to be more, especially on a campus the size of Stanford. Problem is: it’s all I can do just to keep up with my coursework at this point. I don’t have time to get distracted hunting for a demon nest. It was really nice, realizing that demons give Gabe a pretty wide berth.”

“Unless it’s all part of the plan.” Dean met his younger brother’s exasperated bitchface with a determined one of his own. “You know it’s a possibility, Sam. He could’ve been playing you from day one; demons have made deals with other creatures before.”

“Usually just short-term stuff,” Sam countered. “They rarely get along with other underbeings for long periods of time. What makes you think Yellow Eyes would put up with Gabe for almost two years now?”

“Because unlike most of the other demons we’ve dealt with, that bastard plays long games.” Dean saw Sam’s mouth open to argue and rushed ahead. “Ten years before you were even a possibility, and he was making deals to get access to the house. Access to _you_. Mom and Dad weren’t even married yet, and he knew you’d be there in that crib a decade later. I don’t give a shit what other demons do or what creatures they can’t get along with for more than five minutes. We don’t know what Gabe is, we don’t know what his motivations are, and we don’t have any reason to believe a single word he’s ever said.”

Sam’s fox eyes were narrow and dangerous, his entire body tight with defensive anger. “What if his motivations are just that he cares about me?”

“You start believing in Disney fairy tales when I wasn’t lookin’, Sammy?”

“Dammit, Dean!” Sam flared. Abraxas let out a whine from below the table and Sam put a hand down on the back of his neck to calm him. “I’m serious! He’s never given me a reason to not trust him, and he’s been open with me about what he is or isn’t allowed to say-”

“Good liars don’t have audible tells, Sam,” Dean countered, his tone dropping from hard and agitated to obdurate and reasonable. “And you’ve never seen his face in full light. Who knows how many clues you’ve missed because you can’t get a good look at his face?”

The truth struck home. Sam sat back, his expression sullen as the fact that he didn’t have a fair counterargument left him feeling childish and petulant.

Dean recognized the signs of Sam’s debate defenses being breached and seized on it. “It’s obvious that you’ve got what feels like a really good thing going here, Sammy, and God only knows how much nobody in our family has ever liked being wrong about something. But you’re too smart for this. You know what’s wrong with this picture, or you wouldn’t be trying so hard to convince me that you’ve already got it covered. So…” He shrugged and trailed off.

For long minutes, the kitchen was silent. They finished their breakfast without looking at each other, Abraxas staying curled up beneath the table waiting for a sign that all was well again. When Dean stood to put his plate and cutlery in the sink, Sam finally spoke. “What do you want me to do?”

Dean stilled, not looking at Sam and letting his hands grip the edge of the counter around the sink. “You know what you need to do, little brother.”

“What happens between us if I don’t?”

The words struck like arrows at the base of Dean’s spine. He fought not to turn and rage at his brother; long experience told him that, in the end, it would do no more good with Sam than it ever had with their father. “Aw, Hell, Sammy: you ain’t gettin’ an ultimatum outta me. You call, I’ll come running just like always. You’re the only real family I got.” Drawing in his courage, he turned and leaned back against the cabinet, crossing his arms as he looked at Sam. “You gotta make this choice on your own. But just remember that if you leave things alone and it comes back to bite us in the ass, it won’t be on me.”

Staring up at his brother, at the rock that had been the center of his world for as long as he could remember, Sam could only nod in understanding as sick misery started to gather in his throat.

Dean nodded back, wishing he didn’t feel like he should hate himself for making Sam face up to reality. “Okay, then.”

* * *

_May 4, 2004_

The unthinkable had finally happened: Dean Winchester had broken a promise to his little brother.

He’d spent most of their adolescence threatening to get Sam so raging drunk on his twenty-first birthday that he’d be pissing pure tequila, his jade eyes sparkling with hints of the mayhem he was plotting. Sam hadn’t actually wanted to let him go through with it, but Dean was Dean, and he’d secretly looked forward to the idea of seeing whether or not he could go shot for shot with his big brother in a bar with the crowd cheering them on.

But Dean’s distrust of Gabe was like a leech on the brothers’ relationship, draining away everything but the tension that crackled whenever Dean asked if Sam had any new information. He never specified about what. Sam never had anything new to report. And their final words to each other were always stilted in the wake of it.

Dean had come for his birthday, of course: no force of Heaven or Earth could have kept him away. But he’d taken a motel room rather than agreeing to stay at the apartment as he had at his own birthday. He’d taken Sam out to a bar, where Jess had met them with a good dozen of his Stanford friends. Dean had charmed them all and Sam had gotten so drunk from all of the rounds that people kept buying him that he was barely able to stay upright under his own power by the time the party had broken up.

But he hadn’t been drunk enough to miss Dean pulling the old “beer chaser” trick and therefore staying more or less sober all night. Or that Dean had pawned getting Sam home off on Jess rather than risk a run-in with Gabe at the apartment.

Drunk birthday sex with Gabe had been great consolation, but all Sam could think about while he was sweating out the hangover the next morning, and the entire day and night since, was that this was how it would be from now on: Dean would show up for the obligatory family celebrations, but the carefree joy that he’d always brought to the time they spent together wouldn’t come with him. His protective nature and his paranoia over the continuing mystery of Yellow Eyes would never let Dean ignore the fact that Gabe wasn’t human. Wouldn’t let him overlook the fact that Sam was willing to turn a blind eye to how little he really knew about the creature that shared his life.

It wasn’t fair. Moving into the penthouse with Gabe had let Sam effectively shake off any pursuit by the demons that had tried to infiltrate his life, and Sam quietly rebelled at the notion that Gabe had ever lied to him. For all that there were answers Gabe had carefully avoided giving about his true nature, Sam had never heard any hint of falsehood in the things his lover was willing to say.

_*Good liars don’t have audible tells, Sam.*_

They were lying together in bed; Gabe was asleep beside him, his breath soft and his body lax in repose. He tended to sleep when Sam did, and wouldn’t hear of Sam trying to change his circadian rhythms so that they could be awake together all night no matter how guilty Sam always felt about wasting any of their precious few hours together on slumber.

_“…you’ve never seen his face in full light. Who knows how many clues you’ve missed because you can’t get a good look at his face?”_

He remembered the night of their fight so clearly: remembered Gabe’s broken voice as he’d described wanting things he could never have with Sam. They’d sounded true. They’d felt true and still did. And yet the best lies are always salted with a few grains of truth. Their mother’s secrets and evasions had taught both he and Dean that long ago.

_“… you’re too smart for this. You know what’s wrong with this picture…”_

Sam couldn’t stop staring down at Gabe’s face, making out what few lines and features he could in the darkness. It was a beautiful face; he was sure of that. The face of someone who could surely have had whomever he wanted. He’d made it plain that he wanted Sam. The ‘why’ behind that want had never been particularly clear.

_“You know what you need to do, little brother.”_

Abraxas was at the foot of the bed, curled up in a basket. Over the past year, it had taken time and patience to get the puppy to stay there when it was time for bed, especially when the last thing either of his masters did once in bed was sleep, but somehow it had been managed. Brax woke when either of them moved from the bed, but he didn’t scamper up into the nest of silk sheets uninvited anymore.

Sliding from them now, Sam was sure the dog could smell the complex knot of emotion that was making every heartbeat feel like a sledgehammer against his ribs. Abraxas looked up, tracking Sam’s movements in the darkness, as Sam forced himself the few short paces to the doorway of the bedroom.

Pausing for a moment, he looked back across the space between them. He could see the form in the bed, not quite shapeless in the black. Could see in his mind’s eye the phantoms of one hundred nights’ lovemaking, could hear the echoes of quiet laughter and murmured endearments. He could still taste the salt of Gabe’s body on his lips as his tongue flickered out to wet them in hesitation. Could still feel the way the raised scar on his hip throbbed in the wake of their last orgasm together, the two explosions practically simultaneous.

He and Gabe often reached their climaxes together. Their bodies had been in tune since the night they’d first met nearly two years ago. Sam had just thought it was chemistry, kismet, the unquantifiable synergy of pheromones and psychology that made up unslakeable lust. Now, he couldn’t be sure.

Except that wasn’t really fair. It wasn’t fair to blame it all on Dean’s reaction to the news that Gabe wasn’t human. Not when he’d had the same reaction himself after the scar had been seared into his skin. His doubts predated Dean’s. Dean’s reaction simply didn’t let Sam ignore them anymore.

One palm found the wall, sliding up the smooth paint until he found the cool plastic of the switch plate. His fingers stilled, his eyes never leaving the bed where his lover lay sleeping, unaware of anything beyond the residual warmth from lovemaking and Sam’s body.

_“There are no rainbows in the darkness, Sam.”_

He found himself answering the memory, his voice low and hoarse with uncertainty. “Then let there be light.”

Sam’s fingers pushed the light switch up.

Instantly, the bulbs in the fixture in the ceiling flared to life, bathing the room in a white glow that scoured the shadows from Sam’s eyes. Abraxas was on his feet in an instant, uncertain of what was happening and letting out a questioning whine even as Sam hissed and squinted, his eyes unprepared for the sudden change in lighting. In the handful of heartbeats that it took for Sam’s vision to adjust, he thought that what he was seeing was just a trick, an afterimage of the flare against his corneas. It wasn’t.

This wasn’t just light. This was power: a palpable aura of energy that seemed to have a life of its own, shining out and folding back and winding around the form of his lover. Gabe had woken the instant the circuit closed, but he sat up slowly, the aura growing larger and more radiant with every movement he made. The halo surrounding him shimmered and flickered like sunlight on water, dancing in Sam’s eyes as Gabe’s met them.

Those almond-shaped eyes, with the crinkles at the corners that Sam kissed when they were feeling playful. Those eyes were gold, amber, a sunset on the ocean. Sam got lost in the color in them, the life, wondering how they could ever have been so effectively masked by the perpetual darkness in which he and Gabe had conducted their affair for so long. They were so alive and warm and expressive, shimmering and full…

… of sadness. Of regret. Of grief so keen it shocked Sam from his internal rhapsody.

“Sam.” That gentle voice bore no mockery now, no sarcasm or joy. It was as full of regret as those glorious eyes, even as Sam began to register more. Began to notice the way the short, silken hair that he loved to run his fingers through wasn’t just the sandy-blonde he’d always supposed it to be based on how moonlight washed it out, but sun-kissed sand and gold like the beach just before the sun went down. The way the living shield of power surrounding Gabe seemed to sweep out even as he watched, flaring up and away from Gabe’s back like a great mantle of wings.

Wings… halo… the words Sam’s mind was supplying to describe what he saw started registering, and if he hadn’t been transfixed by what he was seeing, he would have recoiled in shock. “Gabriel?”

A sad smile. “That’s what my Father named me.”

Horror started to crawl up Sam’s throat, chasing words of apology, of regret and rescission towards his lips. He took a step, started to reach out to his lover, his angel, to try and stop what was coming…

“I was right,” the Archangel Gabriel told him. With every word, choral notes seemed to hum through the halo of power, rainbows dancing from the opalescent wings that it formed at his back. “You’re even more gorgeous in the light… brighter than the Morning Star.”

Sam opened his mouth, tried to speak again, his hand fumbling for the switch behind him…

And then the bulbs in the ceiling fixture burst. Sam flung himself forward to protect Brax from any glass that might spray out, the dog screaming his displeasure and fright.

When Sam finally sat up, the room was once again plunged into darkness. Abraxas was whining in anxiety and licking Sam’s face. And the bed beside them was empty.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am reiterating the trigger warning for this chapter: the initial scene features brief grief-induced depression and self-neglect, and therefore brief animal neglect by extension. IT IS SHORT-LIVED AND EVERYONE INCLUDING ABRAXAS IS OKAY.
> 
> To bypass that section, skip to the paragraph that is in all-italics and starts with _"Gabriel?"_. Please take care of yourselves while reading and see the series page for complete warnings, acknowledgements, notes and fanmix.

~ooooOOOoooo~

It was his fault, in the end. Gabe… _Gabriel_ had trusted him, believed that Sam was content with their arrangement, if no more happy about it than Gabriel himself. Sam had used the security of that assumption to betray that trust. And it had cost him everything that Gabriel had said it would.

Sam lay in bed, unmoving, guilt driving through him like long sharp needles while Brax whined and screamed and messed the apartment floors because Sam couldn’t summon up the strength to take him out. The acrid smell hit his nostrils and he just rolled over, burrowing his face under blankets until sleep claimed him and it all drowned in darkness.

Abraxas had lost Gabriel, too. And it was Sam’s fault.

The blackout curtains that cloaked the bedroom were pulled shut and Sam couldn’t bear to drag himself out of the huge bed in the center of it long enough to do anything. Movement beyond just shifting position within the silken nest was too onerous to contemplate. His body had no demands that couldn’t be ignored until they went away. Hunger and thirst had gnawed at him for a while, but a dull ache had set up in their place. It was easy to sleep, and hurt so much less than being awake, when every breath felt like knives gouging out pieces of his heart.

Dreaming didn’t provide him much escape, either. The smell of dog waste and his own unwashed self in the sheets went away, as did the faint reminders his stomach still tried to offer up that food and drink is essential to survival. But his dreams were full of brilliant light searing across his senses, of silent and terrible resentment, or of endless winding corridors plunged into total darkness while he searched for everything he’d lost.

Gabriel had said they’d never allow him to come back. Not while Sam lived. Except Sam didn’t really feel alive right now, and Gabriel still wasn’t here, so the truth of that was hard to gauge.

Abraxas whined and pawed at him, anxious and pleading, but Sam could barely do more than lift a hand towards the animal that they’d both loved so much. He wasn’t trying to die. He already felt dead. No one had told his body, was all. Eventually it would get the memo, and then Brax would get Gabriel back, and nothing would ever have to hurt this badly again.

* * *

_“Gabriel?” He stumbled and fell, briars tearing at his hands as he tried to use the hedges around him for leverage to stand back up. The branches were thorny and bare of leaves, and Sam couldn’t shake the sensation that they reached out to tear at his clothes or that their roots erupted from the ground to trip him. “Gabriel?”_

_Silence. Emptiness. Sam kept moving, sure he would find the end of the maze soon, sure he would find the angel at the end. His lover had to be here; he could feel him. If only he had one of the machetes his father had given him for fighting vampires, then he could just hack his way through…_

_As if the thought was audible, the hedges seemed to shift and rustle in response. Sam tried to move faster, to reach the end, but his legs were like lead and the tunnel of hedges was starting to thicken around him, closing on him, tangling him into their branches and stabbing into him. Sam struggled, but they wound around him even tighter, finally ensnaring his arms and dragging him in… “Gabriel!” He fought back, tore long gashes into his palms as he fought to pry the branches away and ripped at the hedges with his fingernails. “Gabriel!”_

_“You’re dreaming,” came a voice, disembodied within the depths of the briar walls. “You’ve gotta wake up, Sam.”_

_“No! I have to find him.” Sam fought harder, but the hedges tightened their hold and dragged him back through, down and away and then it was raining, making his hands slick with cold water as well as hot blood. “Let me go! Gabriel!”_

_“Wake up, Sam!”_

_Green blooming around him, threatening to smother him, leaves unfurling into his mouth and over his eyes and across his nose, and Sam was trapped. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t get enough of a grip…_

_“Dammit, Sammy; get your ass back on this plane right **now**!”_

The dream broke, shattering like a pane of glass pierced by a bullet. Sam choked and spluttered as the fugue state left him, his eyes prying open to see his brother’s face, pinched and anxious above his own. Red weals stood out in sharp relief on Dean’s cheek: damage from Sam’s blunted fingernails, and Dean’s hands were tight on Sam’s wrists as he tried to hold Sam under the cold spray of the shower in the penthouse’s bathroom.

“You back with me, Sammy?” Dean’s voice was sharp with concern, jade eyes raking over Sam’s body. Sam slowly became aware of being naked, the water as cold as it could get, pricking over his skin like icy needles. Dean was soaked to the skin, not having bothered to even remove his shirt before he’d put Sam into the shower stall and turned the water on in an effort to bring Sam back into the world.

“Dean?” Sam blinked owlishly, reality seeping into his mind and chasing out the remnants of the dream. “How…?”

“Picked it,” Dean explained, guessing Sam’s question. “Jess called me.”

Those strong hands started moving, massaging life back into Sam’s muscles and increasing the temperature of the water now that Sam was awake. Sam felt disoriented, unsteady even though he was practically lying on his back in the tub. The contact was grounding, and Sam slowly became aware of the lack of sound beyond the pattering of water on the tiles. “Brax?”

“He’s okay.” Dean didn’t stop touching Sam, his hands working stiff limbs with soap now to wash away the stench of sweat and old sleep. “Jess is out there with him keepin’ him calm. He led us right to you.”

A jolt of guilty concern shot through him, and Sam shifted under Dean’s hands until he was sitting up more comfortably. “The place has to be a mess.”

“I know a guy that does decent clean-up around here. We’ll handle it.”

For a time, they were silent. Dean bathed Sam like he’d done when they were children, and Sam had no choice but to let him, his head spinning and his muscles protesting every time he moved. He’d been declining for close to a week, dragging himself out of bed less and less, and it had been a long time since he’d pushed the limits of his body’s tolerances.

Dean walked Sam was back into the bedroom too, letting Sam make his way on unsteady feet but right behind him in case he stumbled. An anxious Brax jumped at him as Sam entered, whining and pawing at his legs. Sam sank to his knees, embracing his beloved dog as guilt wrapped around him and squeezed tight. “It’s okay, Brax… I’m okay now. I’m sorry; it’s okay.” He pressed his face into the dog’s fur, letting Brax lick at his exposed skin, then looked up at Jess, who was perched on the newly-remade bed. “How bad is it?”

“Rank. I cleaned up what I could,” Jess confirmed, her voice tight from how worried she’d been. “For which you owe me **_forever_** , by the way.”

“We’ll just add it to my tab.” He pushed himself to his feet, his chest tight and his stomach starting to snarl. “Dean, you can head out. We can take it from here.”

Jess’ eyes widened. Sam could feel the vibration of Dean’s shock behind him. “What?”

“I don’t need you here.” Keeping his back rigid, Sam walked to his dresser in search of clean pajamas. He didn’t want to look at Dean right now. Didn’t want to even feel Dean in the room. His brother had dragged him back to the land of the living, and Sam was grateful for Abraxas’ sake, but the rest of what he was feeling at the sound of his brother’s voice was like hot knives. “You can head out. I’m sure you had something you dropped to come running out here; you should get back to it.”

“Sam…” Jess shifted uncomfortably, the tension in the air sharp enough to cut.

“Jess, can you do me a favor and make up a grocery list?” Sam asked brusquely. He didn’t want her piping up in Dean’s defense just now. He really didn’t want to hear much of anything. “I’m sure anything that was in the fridge is pretty dead by now.”

The cue wasn’t hard to pick up. Jess murmured her assent as she slid off the bed, shooing Abraxas from the room and closing the door behind her.

Dean barely waited for the click of the latch. “Now what the Hell d’you mean: you don’t need me here?” he demanded, taking an outraged step closer to his brother. “Seems to me you need somebody here pretty damned bad.”

“And it automatically follows that that person is you?” Sam returned, his voice cutting even in its calmness. “You’re the one that got pissed off because he wasn’t human. You’re the one that pushed me to force the issue.”

“I didn’t make you to do anything,” Dean retorted angrily.

“No, you didn’t,” Sam agreed. He got dressed with his back turned to Dean, still refusing to look at his brother. “You even flat out said that you weren’t giving me an ultimatum. That doesn’t mean that you wouldn’t have avoided coming back here as long as Gabriel was here with me. Doesn’t mean that you wouldn’t have been dripping with disapproval when I could get you to come, just like you were at my birthday. You know as well as I do that there’s no way I could’ve left things alone and not had you up my ass about it every time we talked.”

Dean's mouth dropped open in shock. “You’re really gonna blame me for this?” he asked incredulously. “You’re gonna make me the heavy for your boyfriend bailing on you-”

“He didn’t _bail_ on me!” Sam raged, finally rounding on the elder sibling. “There was only one way to know for sure that he was telling the truth, and that was to turn on the light! The only way to prove what you wanted to know… the _only_ way… was to call that ‘bluff’. Except guess what, Dean? It wasn’t a bluff after all! You forced me to force the issue and now the best thing that’s ever happened to me is gone and can’t _ever come back!_ ”

“And him being gone proves that how?” Dean snapped, his own temper rising dangerously. “All it proves is that when you called his bluff, he had something to hide.”

Something inside Sam: something primal and dangerous that whispered to him in the dark corners of the night; snapped. Before he knew it, his fist was flying, connecting with Dean’s cheekbone in a hard downward arc, skin tearing beneath splitting knuckles as the force of the impact sent Dean stumbling backwards.

When his brother’s head came up, viridian eyes blazing furious disbelief, Sam almost wanted to apologize. Almost wanted to take it all back, to let his brother stay. Dean’s presence had always grounded him, protected him from the shadows that reached for him even in broad daylight. The part of Sam that still wanted to be curled into an unmoving bundle on the bed also wanted the comfort his brother could offer him.

But that voice was drowned out by the rage at Dean’s exacerbation of his own doubts about Gabriel’s truthfulness. By the soul-deep, unwavering knowledge that what he’d seen that night just before Gabriel had vanished hadn’t been a trick. “Get out,” he ordered hoarsely, feeling his entire body vibrating. “I don’t care where you go. Just get out.”

Dean straightened, eyes still hot and words hovering around the corners of his generous mouth. Sam saw the fear under the anger, the overpowering instinct to protect him that had been the core of both their lives…

And then Dean’s entire face closed to emotion, as if a curtain had been drawn across it, and he left the apartment without a word.

Sam’s knees gave, and he sank down to sit on the edge of the bed as Jess came in. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Jess.”

“Okay.” Jess pushed her way into Sam’s lap, her strong thighs straddling his before she shifted to wrap arms and legs around him. She buried her face in the curve of his neck, and started stroking his hair with one slim hand. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

For a long, tight moment, Sam resisted the comfort she offered, still raw from his confrontation with Dean. But she held on, refusing to leave him alone, and Sam finally burrowed his face in her soft blonde waves and began, very softly, to weep.

* * *

The next few days were almost unbearable for Sam. Unwilling to risk that he might plunge into another depressive spiral if left alone, Jess took up residence in the guest room and refused to let Sam out of her sight for more than a few minutes. It touched and irritated Sam in equal turns: especially how nothing he said would make her leave, no matter how low a blow he tried for.

“If you want me to leave, just say so,” Jessica finally told him while loading the dishwasher after dinner on the third day. “But just so you know: if you do kick me out, I’m taking Brax with me.”

That brought Sam up short. He could see in an instant that she was serious, her voice level and her eyes hard as agates. Sighing heavily, he turned away from the kitchen and flopped down on the sofa, one hand stroking Abraxas as soon as the dog jumped up beside him.

A few minutes later, she joined them on the couch, setting two tall glasses of water onto coasters on the coffee table in front of them. “Look, Sam: I think it’s about time you told me the truth here.”

“About what?” he asked, refusing to look up at her and concentrating on the way Abraxas snuggled contentedly in his lap. He knew that the way he was acting wasn’t fair to Jess; she was worried for him, and rightfully so considering everything. He just couldn’t seem to help it. He didn’t want to be around anyone, no matter how well meaning they were. He just wanted to be left alone with the guilt and the shame that were tearing him apart inside.

“In case you forgot, I was here for that fight you and Dean had.” She watched him stiffen, and when he didn’t respond, she prompted: “What did you mean when you said that Gabe wasn’t human? And why did Dean act like that was the normal part of the conversation?”

Slowly, giving Brax plenty of time to wriggle off his lap and jump down, Sam leaned forward and took up his water glass. He tried to ignore how much his hand shook as he took a long, steadying drink. “I didn’t realize you’d heard us,” he offered lamely.

“Considering how loud you two were being, it was kinda hard to miss.” She tilted her head, an expectant expression on her heart-shaped face. “Well? You gonna tell me or what?”

Sam took another long drink of water, then set the glass down and turned to face her. This was his best friend in the world now, beyond Dean and Gabe. He hoped she still would be by the time he finished. “It’s kind’ve a long story,” he warned. “And a lot of it sounds pretty weird. Like: actually unbelievable, what-kind-of-acid-trip-are-you-on weird.”

Her jaw set just a little bit firmer, chin lifting a fraction more stubbornly into the air. “Bring it.”

Taking a long breath and steeling himself for the worst, Sam told her.

* * *

It took hours to get through it all. Much to Sam’s surprise, Jess hadn’t decided that the truth she’d demanded was another sign of his potentially needing to be committed. In fact, that it had been his mother who’d been the secret huntress had ignited her curiosity, and Sam ended up digressing a number of times to elaborate on truth versus fiction about various supernatural beings and happenings.

What was even more of a surprise was how often he smiled in the telling of it all. How easily Jess’ enthusiasm bled over to him, until they were both laughing and talking animatedly well into the night while Jess rifled through his trunk of hunting supplies. She seemed particularly drawn to his knives. _Guess I know what I’m getting her for Christmas._

“So,” she finally said on a long breath, twirling a throwing knife on her fingers. “What _is_ Gabe? Did you ever figure it out?”

Sobered by the question, Sam picked up a length of iron chain, toying with it for a moment before answering. “I… I know what I think. I know what I saw before he vanished. But I…”

Judging by her expression, Sam figured that how lost he felt must be showing on his face. Setting the knife down, she reached out and caught his left hand in her right. “You don’t want to say,” she finished. After gazing at him for another minute, Jess nodded. “Okay… I won’t push you to tell me. But Sam, you gotta stop punishing yourself. He shouldn’t have kept it hidden from you, especially if he knew about the demon that’s after you.”

“But that’s just it,” Sam protested. “He wasn’t _allowed_ to tell me, Jess. You and Dean and probably everyone else in the known universe all think he was lying to me, but I’m telling you: he wasn’t. I just _know_ he wasn’t, and I…”

“Okay, okay,” Jess conceded. “So even if he wasn’t lying and he really couldn’t tell you what he was, you still need to stop blaming yourself for what happened. He had to have known the risks… what was going to happen if human curiosity got the better of you. It takes two to tango, as they say.”

Sam had no answer for that, staring down instead at the iron chain that he tangled loosely around his fingers in ever-changing patterns. Gabe had known the risks; he’d told Sam as much. But it was still Sam that had given in to doubt and flipped that light switch. It was still Sam that hadn’t kept faith with the trust they’d built for two passionate years.

After a moment of letting Sam stew, Jess inched closer. “This place was his, right?”

A bitter laugh vibrated in Sam’s chest at that. “Actually, no: it’s mine. I called the rental company to find out how long the rent was paid through, and it turns out that the lease is in _my_ name, not Gabe’s.” Jess gasped, her eyes blowing wide, and Sam tossed the chain back into the trunk. “Yep. The renter’s insurance, too. Gabe took out a five-year lease on this place and insurance to match, put them in my name, and paid them both in full. And there’s a bank account with enough money in it to pay for law school about three times over, including books.”

Jess didn’t say anything for a long moment. Sam could feel the tears burning in his eyes, felt one slip free and track down his cheek as she started quietly packing the hunting weapons back into the trunk, her hands careful as they placed each item back where they belonged.

He couldn’t look up at her when she closed the trunk and then shifted to face him, her hands reaching up to cup his cheeks beneath the curtain of his hair. “He made sure I’d be okay,” Sam choked out. “Just in case something happened and he couldn’t stay, he made sure I wouldn’t want for anything.”

“Yeah, he did,” Jess whispered, edging even closer until she could wrap Sam into her arms, letting his head rest on her shoulder. “He did.”

“How can I keep this place?” Sam asked, hating himself for how fragile he felt. “Or the money? He set them up to take care of me and I betrayed him… I can’t keep them… but I…”

Shifting back a little bit, Jess once again cupped Sam’s face in her hands and looked up into his red-rimmed hazel eyes. “You can, and you will. Because if even half of what you’ve told me about Gabe is true, then he set them up knowing that one of the reasons he might disappear is because you finally couldn’t ignore all of the non-answers and evasions anymore.” Sam opened his mouth to protest and Jess let out a soft sound to shush him. “You knew him, Sam. You keep saying that you know he wasn’t lying to you. So what does your gut tell you?”

She was right. He’d known from the moment he’d found out about the arrangements Gabe had made, much as he might like to rationalize around it to try and salvage his conscience. And there was no question of him leaving; not really. Sam could no more bring himself to walk away from the penthouse they’d shared, and all the memories of Gabe that lingered in every shadow, than he could’ve let Jess take Brax away. Not even when knowing that Gabe had given him this last gift, even in the face of Sam’s betrayal being the reason that Gabe had to leave, made everything better and worse all at once.

It was a twist of the knives in his heart, to think of it that way: as Gabe’s… _Gabriel’s_ final gift to him. It was more than what he would ever deserve, even with a lifetime to try.

“I thought so,” Jess murmured, seeing that he’d conceded her point on his face. She then stood and urged him to his feet. “Come on, Sam: get a shower and get some sleep. It’ll all look easier to tackle in the morning.”

Sam didn’t think so, but he was too wrung out to argue with her, and so he did as he was told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends Book One of Shape the Invisible. Next Saturday, I will begin posting Book II: Broken Stairway. Please consider subscribing to the series for update e-mails, and thank you so much for reading! I love you all! ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be posted every Saturday until complete.


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